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THE GOLD TRAIL 


Copyright, 1916, 

By STREET & SMITH 

Copyright, 1916, 

By JOHN LANE COMPANY ^ 


( 



Press of 

J. J. Little & Ives Company 
New York, U. S. A. 


©CI.A431952 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Maquart 9 

II. The Man Without Imagination ... 19 

III. Screed 36 

IV. The Chart 41 

V. Captain Hull 55 

VI. The Outfitting 73 

VII. The “Barracuda” Sails 78 

VIII. The Argonauts 85 

IX. A Vision of the Deep 94 

X. Torres Straits 103 

XI. They Sight the River 113 

XII. The Lagoon 119 

XIII. The Black Ship 127 

XIV. Wiart 136 

XV. They Start to Dig 144 

XVI. The Scorpion and the Centipede . . 156 

XVII. Saji 168 

XVIII. Soundings 173 

XIX. The New Move 183 

XX. A Picture in the Forest 189 

XXI. The Great Thorn Bush 193 


5 


6 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXII. Maquart’s Third Trick 207 

XXIII. Chaya Finds the Bundles 216 

XXIV. Hull Is Enlightened 223 

XXV. Chaya Strikes the Blaze 229 

XXVI. The Treasure 239 

XXVII. The Horror in the Hatchway . . . 262 

XXVIII. The Pit Trap 278 

XXIX. Nemesis 288 

XXX. The Gift of Gifts 297 

XXXI. At Last 300 

XXXII. L’Envoi 307 


THE GOLD TRAIL 






V 








THE GOLD TRAIL 


CHAPTER I 

MACQUART 

T"\ AY was breaking over the Domain, glorious, 
gauzy with mist, warm and blue. 

The larrikins and loafers, drunkards and unem- 
ployed who had spent the night on the grass were 
scratching themselves awake. Houghton on a seat 
had ceased yawning and stretching himself. He was 
talking to a stranger, a man slightly over the middle 
age who had slept beside him, and who was now 
making his toilet with a bit of comb, running it 
through his hair and his grizzled beard and talking 
all the time in an easy, garrulous, voluminous man- 
ner, more suggestive of long intimacy than of total 
unacquaintanceship. 

Houghton, who had awoken surly and stiff and out 
of temper with the world, was sitting now with his 
arm across the seat back, his legs crossed, and his 
foot swinging, listening to the other who was making 
the conversation, and wondering vaguely what man- 
ner of man he might be. He had never seen any one 
at all like him. 

“And the strangest thing,” went on the gentleman 
9 


IO 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


with the comb, “is the fact that the off-scourings of 
the city sleep in this splendid place, fill their lungs 
with good air and wake refreshed, whilst the prosper- 
ous folk sleep in dog holes — bed rooms, if you like 
the term better — and wake half poisoned by their 
own effluvia. But don’t think I am a crank. Oh, 
dear, no. When I am well off, I am just as tough to 
common sense as the rest of humanity. I sleep in a 
bed room, eat too much, drink too much, and smoke 
too much ; but between whiles as now, for instance, 
when I am driven to the simple life I enjoy it, and I 
get a glimpse of what might have been if men had 
stuck to tents instead of building houses. Freedom, 
air, light, simplicity, great open spaces — those are 
the things that make life. Yes, sir, those are the 
things that count.” 

“You have been about the world a lot?” said 
Houghton. 

The other, having finished his toilet, was now re- 
garding his boots with a critical eye; one of them 
showed a crack where the upper met the sole at the 
instep. He made this crack open and shut like a 
mouth for a moment, viewed it with his head on one 
side, and then said: 

“Almost all over the place. North, south, east 
and west, doing almost everything that has got excite- 
ment in it. Living, you may say — that’s the word. 
How old may you be, if it’s not an impertinent ques- 
tion? Twenty-three, and you are English, I can see 
that. You belong to the class they call in England 
the gentleman class, and you’re out here sleeping with 
old rovers like me and all that hoggery over there 


MACQUART 


n 


on the grass in the Domain of Sydney, without maybe 
more than a shilling in your pocket. Well, I was like 
you once, and if you keep on as you are going, you’ll 
maybe one day be like me. Look at me. I am 
forty-seven years of age, or maybe forty-eight, for 
I’ve always gone by dead reckoning — and I haven’t 
lost a tooth, I could digest an ostrich, I haven’t a 
care in the world and I’m always alive because I’m 
always interested. I have made three fortunes and 
lost them. Now do you think I set out to make those 
fortunes with a view to sitting down on the Hudson 
or on Nob’s Hill or in the city of Paris or Lon- 
don and enjoying them? I never had a view to that. 
I never had a view to a palace and a fat woman cov- 
ered in diamonds for a wife, and sons and daughters 
and all such like. No, sir, I fought for money for the 
fight of the thing. Money ! I love it; it’s my dream ; 
I hunt for it like a pig for truffles, but when the 
durned thing is in my hands it turns to lead if I don’t 
use it to make more, and that’s what breaks me. 
For I’m like this, lucky as you like when I’m on the 
make adventuring in out-of-the-way places, but un- 
lucky as Satan when I’m speculating. For instance, 
I made a big pile over the Klondyke and lost every 
cent in the wheat pit at Chicago. 

“I was going about Chicago on my uppers same 
as I’m going about Sydney now, had to accept a loan 
to get away, then I bought an island.” 

“You bought an island?” 

“To speak more truly, I bought the lease of one. 
You can buy islands, mind you, and if you knew the 
Pacific as I do, you’d open your eyes at the trades 


12 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


that have been done over islands in these seas. 
There’s Ten Stick Island, for instance, in the New 
Hebrides. It’s nothing much of a place, just a rock 
sticking up out of the sea. You Britishers wanted a 
target for gun practice, and they bought the durned 
thing for ten sticks of tobacco from the Chief who 
owned it. At one time big fortunes were made by 
fellows who came along and picked up islands and 
stuck to them, shell lagoons and copra islands; but 
nowadays the governments have all closed in on 
everything bigger than a mushroom, even bits of 
places like Takutea and God-forsaken mud banks 
like Gough Island have their owners. Well, the 
island I came to negotiate for was in the New Heb- 
rides. It was valuable because its top part was one 
solid block of guano. An old whaler captain brought 
news of it to me. I met him in a bar just off a cruise. 
‘But where’s the use,’ said he. ‘It belongs to the 
Australian Government, and at the first wind of 
guano they’ll close down on it.’ That was four 
o’clock in the afternoon, and by four o’clock next 
day I had got a syndicate together, and not long after 
we had a lease of the place for ten years for almost 
nothing. And when we got to the place to work it, 
it was gone, nothing but a vigia left. Islands go like 
that. Kingman Island and Dindsay Island and a 
hundred others have ducked under, leaving only a 
reef a’wash or leaving nothing. Well, there we were 
- — done, with long faces and empty purses Gim- 

me a match.” 

He took out a pipe and some tobacco wrapped up 


MACQUART 


13 


in a scrap of the Sydney Bulletin. Houghton sup- 
plied him with a match and he began to smoke. 

Houghton was young for his years. He had left 
Oxford without a degree to spend two thousand 
pounds which came to him on his majority. A woman 
had helped him to spend the two thousand and had 
died of galloping consumption, leaving him broken 
and heart-broken at the same time, without a pro- 
fession, with expensive tastes and no earthly means 
of making money save with his hands. 

And you cannot make money with your hands in 
England, so he came to the Colonies, fell in with 
some bar acquaintances, risked his last penny on a 
horse race and lost. He had rooms in Sydney and 
some gear, but he could not pay his rent, he owed 
for board and lodging, and for the last two days 
had been living from hand to mouth. No one need 
starve in Sydney, it is the most tolerant city towards 
loafers in the world, not that Houghton was a 
loafer; he was just a man without a job. 

He sat looking at the other for a moment, then 
he said, “My name is Houghton. I’m English, as 
you say. What are you — American ?” 

“No, sir,” replied the stranger, “there’s no Amer- 
ican about me. I’m the most thoroughbred mongrel 
that ever crawled on God’s green footstool and 
jumped for scraps. Macquart is my name. Simon 
Macquart, a prospector by nature and profession, 
and as you see me sitting here talking to you I don’t 
look much, maybe, but I’m out after a fortune. A 
dead sure thing. Money enough to make a dozen 
men rich.” 


14 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


He stopped short and puffed at his pipe, his eyes 
fixed away towards the sea as though the fortune 
had suddenly materialised itself and were visible. 
His profile seen like this hinted at a character both 
daring and predatory. Remember that a man’s es- 
sential character is exhibited in his profile more 
surely than in any other outline or combination of 
outlines, and the character of Macquart spoke loud 
at that moment as he sat with the pipe firmly clenched 
between his teeth and his eyes straining towards the 
distance. 

“What is it?” said Houghton, “a mine?” 

“Mine!” said the other, returning from his 
thoughts. “Oh, lord, no! It’s a proposition, and 
this very morning I am going to lay it before one of 
the biggest bugs in Sydney. I’ve been carrying it 
about in my skull for a matter of two years, always 
hoping to be able to find money of my own to work 

it with Couldn’t. Laid hold of it first up 

there, Borneo way — never mind exactly where, 
reached Portuguese Timor and sounded one of the 
biggest men there, a Dutchman, he only laughed at 
me — d — d ijit. I was so broke there that I had to 
help lading ships with copra — they’ve taken to grow- 
ing cocoanut palms in Timor. Then I took a voy- 
age to ’Frisco for my health, in the foc’s’le. Had 
no luck in ’Frisco and drifted to Valdivia. There I 
nearly had a chance in a loose way of business; 
started a faro table with a Spaniard, and was piling 
up the chips when my partner scooped the pile and 
the police did the rest. Lord, I never was so beat 
as that time. I got a boat that took me to Liver- 


MACQUART 


i5 


pool. I did not want to go to Liverpool a bit, but 
the boat did and as I was one of the hands I had to 
go with her.” 

He tapped the dottle out of his pipe against his 
boot heel, and as he did so Houghton caught a 
glimpse of the fluke of a blue anchor tattooed on his 
wrist and exposed by the stretching of his arm. It 
was the only thing about the man suggestive of the 
fact that he had been a sailor. 

“From that I worked back to New York,” he 
went on, “and from New York here and there till I 
arrived in the old Colony, always with an eye on my 
proposition and another eye out for a suitable man 
to lay it before. I was near giving up when I fell 
in with a likely chap, a gentleman born; met him in 
a bar on Market Street, cottoned to him at oilce, 
just as I’ve done to you, gave him a whisper of 
what was in my mind and set him alight with it. 
He’s in the swim here though he hasn’t much money 
of his own. Bobby Tillman’s his name, and he’s 
going to lay me and my proposition before a likely 
man this very morning; eleven o’clock’s the hour. 
If we can fix things up, Tillman is the man to collect 
the hands for the job and find a likely vessel; he’s in 
with all the waterside. Money is useful in a thing 
like this, but it’s the men that pull it through; get 
the wrong ones and you’re done.” 

“Look here,” said Houghton,. “I don’t know 
what this job of yours may be, and I don’t want to 
be inquisitive, but it seems adventurous and you 
seem to want men. Would there be any show for me 
in it?” 


1 6 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


“And why not?” asked Macquart, “if you’re game 
for roughing it. ’Pears to me I’ve been telling you 
a lot of things I wouldn’t have told to a casual 
stranger. Well, it’s just because I seem to cotton 
to you. Mind now, and don’t be flying away with 
things, building up on a treasure venture as if there 
was a fortune for every one in it; there’s not that. 
There’s the chap with money to be considered, 
there’s me and there’s Tillman. But you’d have your 
share and you’d see things, and maybe you’d be 
better off than on any job likely to turn up in Sydney. 
Can you handle a boat?” 

“I’ve done a good deal of yachting in a small 
way.” 

Macquart laughed. 

“That’s the English all over,” said he, “bred up 
in idleness and sport, and then, when the pinch 
comes, in out-of-the-way places the sport helps them 
through. And I suppose you know the which end 
of a gun?” 

“Yes, I’m a fair shot.” 

“You’ll do all right. Oh, I reckon you’ll do all 
right, if we can only collar the bug with the money, 
which is my business, though maybe you can help a 
bit in that, too. I’m not much to look at, but your 
clothes are all right; you only want a wash and a 
brush up to be the English gentleman new to the 
colonies. There’s nothing like a bit of good appear- 
ance to help a deal through. Tillman is good 
enough, but he’s a bit off the handle. His father 
was a big marine store-dealer and he died worth a 
good deal; left his pile to Bobby, who spent half of 


MACQUART 


i7 


it and was choused out of the rest — or nearly so, for 
he’s got a bit left, not much but enough to keep him 

idle Well, shall we get a move on? I’m going 

to a place I know for some breakfast — have you any 
money?” 

“Two shillings,” said Houghton, without any 
shame in stating the fact of his destitution. 

“Well, keep your money in your pocket. I’ll pay. 
I have a tick at the place I know. You’ll want 
something for drinks, maybe, and I expect by to- 
night we’ll be a durned sight better off if I can 
touch this chap with the money.” 

They left the Domain and entered the city. The 
morning was now blue and blazing, the streets bril- 
liant with sunlight, and Houghton, walking beside 
Macquart, felt a wonderful uplift of mind and spirit. 

Macquart was practically a tramp, though better 
dressed than the ordinary hobo; a man without 
money or home or prospects, yet of such an extraordi- 
nary personality that in his companionship all these 
details of life seemed of little account. This 
dreamer of wealth had the power of inspiring others 
with his dreams — or his disease. With him some- 
thing wonderful was always going to happen, a sure 
thing that would shower gold on himself and his 
companions. Given a man with a grain of imagina- 
tion and placed long in the company of Macquart, 
and that man would be lost — or at least his money 
would be lost, but at least he would have had ex- 
citement for his money, fabulous dreams of wealth, 
and the vision of a gorgeous future. 

Houghton was under this spell now. Macquart 


is 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


had told him quite definitely that his — Houghton’s 
— share in the Venture would be small; that did not 
matter, the Venture was the main thing, the atmo- 
sphere of romance and new life that Macquart was 
able to cast around him without any effort, the spirit 
of youth he was able to conjure up to assist in his 
infernal projects. 

No man can influence without himself being in- 
fluenced; no man can make others feel what he does 
not feel himself. Macquart’s whole-hearted enthu- 
siasm in pursuit of his own ideals, his genuine joy in 
their pursuit, and his abandonment to imagination 
were the factors no doubt of his success. The old 
clothes that covered this walking romance were for- 
gotten by them who read him, the dubious morality 
hinted at in his physiognomy was passed over; the 
fact that he was a walking parable on Poverty was 
unheeded — he showed men Fortune, talked of her as 
his mate, and made them believe. 

He made me believe in him, and despite reverses, 
despite losses, despite the extraordinary happenings 
here to be set down, I believe in him still. He had 
without any manner of doubt the true scent for gold 
and success, a scent faultless when uncrossed and 
unspoiled by his imagination. 

He led the way past the post-office and town-hall, 
of which splendid buildings he seemed as proud as 
any Sydneyite, and then, expatiating on the palms 
growing in front of the latter building, on the tram- 
way traffic of the streets and the general prosperity 
of the city, led on down a bye-way to the doors of 
the modest-looking cafe where he possessed a tick. 


CHAPTER II 


THE MAN WITHOUT IMAGINATION 
T ten o’clock, Macquart leading the way, they 



-*■ entered Lamperts’ bar at the corner of Holt 
Street. Lamperts’ is the most extensive and expen- 
sive place of its kind in Sydney, and that is saying a 
good deal. After and before a race-meeting it is 
crowded, and it is said that more money is made and 
lost here than on the Wool Exchange. Here you 
may meet a great many notabilities, from the men 
who write and draw for the first paper in the East- 
ern Hemisphere to the man who has won the . 

Lamperts’ has known Phil May, his pictures are on 
the walls; and it was towards a young gentleman 
contemplating one of these pictures that Macquart 
now advanced. 

Tillman, for it was the redoubtable Bobby Till- 
man himself, turned at the footstep of the other, 
recognised him and taking his cigarette from his 
mouth gave him greeting. 

Tillman looked about eighteen, he was in reality 
twenty-seven; fresh complexioned, clean-shaved, and 
well-dressed in a suit of blue serge, wearing a straw 
hat on the back of his head and his hands in his 
trousers’ pockets, he was a typical “boy.” 

Every race-course knew him, every bookmaker 


20 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


had made money out of him; he had spent a little 
fortune on dissipation, yet he remained to all intents 
and purposes quite fresh, innocent, and young. 

Houghton took a liking at once to this new ac- 
quaintance, and having been introduced by Mac- 
quart as, “My friend, Mr. Houghton, just arrived 
from England,” found himself leaning against the 
bar counter, a soft drink at his elbow and his atten- 
tion entirely occupied by Tillman, who was talking 
to Macquart yet including him in the conversation. 

“What I like about you is your punctuality,” he 
was saying. “A man who doesn’t keep his appoint- 
ments is a man who, ten to one, doesn’t keep his 
word. Well, here’s to you.” 

“Here’s to you,” said Macquart; “and how about 
the business?” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Tillman. “I saw Cur- 
lewis again last night and reminded him. We are 
to be at his office at eleven sharp; he’s interested 
and that’s the great thing. Does your friend know 
anything of the affair?” 

“Enough to make him want to lend a hand,” re- 
plied Macquart, half turning towards Houghton. 
“He can’t put any money into the thing ” 

“Not a cent,” cut in Houghton, with a laugh. 

“But he’s a yachtsman,” went on Macquart, “and 
a good shot and used to roughing it — just the man 
we want.” 

“Good Lord! I should think so,” said Tillman 
enthusiastically. “Blow the money; a good man is 
better than riches in an affair like this; strength in 
the after guard is what we want and chaps that 


THE MAN WITHOUT IMAGINATION it 


aren’t afraid of the weather. Houghton, I’ll be glad 
to have you with us.” 

“I’ve told him that the pay won’t be great as 
viewed in proportion to the takings,” said Macquart. 

“There you go,” cried the enthusiastic Tillman, 
“talking of pay as if you were going to open a fried- 
fish shop. What comes to us will be shared in pro- 
portion to what we do or what we put into the busi- 
ness. You see, in a safe land show it’s all very well 
talking of salaries, but in an affair where we all risk 
being eaten by fishes or chewed by tigers, shares is 
a better word than salaries.” 

The word “tigers” made Houghton look up. 

“There aren’t any tigers,” said Macquart; “tree 
cats and leopards, nothing worse.” 

“I don’t want to ask too many questions,” said 
Houghton, “or make you give the show away before 
you want to, but would it be too much to ask where 
we are going?” 

“Mean to say you don’t know?” cried Tillman. 

“Not in the least.” 

“Well, you take the biscuit. You do, indeed. By 
George, that’s the spirit I like, ready to sign on, 
maybe for Hades, without a question!” 

Mr. Tillman did not say Hades. I doubt if his 
classical knowledge included the meaning of the 
word. He clung to the Anglo-Saxon, and Houghton 
laughed. 

“I’d just as soon sign on for there as stay in 
Sydney without a cent in my pocket,” said he, “and 
it couldn’t be hotter.” 


22 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


“Well, it’s not far from here we are going,” said 
Tillman. ‘‘It’s up north.” 

“New Guinea,” put in Macquart. 

“Up a river in New Guinea to find something 
that’s there,” said Tillman. “You’ll hear it all 

when Macquart spins his yam to Curlewis 

Well, shall we be going? It’s some way from here, 
and it’s no harm to be a bit before time.” 

He led the way out of the bar and they passed 
down the street, Tillman saluting nearly every sec- 
ond person they met. He seemed to be a well- 
known character and the greetings he received — so 
Houghton fancied — spoke of amiability and good- 
fellowship rather than high respect. Houghton’s 
interest in this strange budding venture was concen- 
trated now less on the main than the immediate 
objective. How would Curlewis receive his irrespon- 
sible visitor? How would he receive the seedy Mac- 
quart? He felt himself to be a fifth wheel in this 
ramshackle chariot so boldly setting out on the road 
to riches, and outside the wool broker’s office he 
frankly said so, suggesting that he should wait in 
the street till the interview was over. 

Mr. Tillman would have none of that. He de- 
clared Houghton’s presence to be an indispensable 
factor in the proceedings. He was one of the “crew,” 
well, why should he skulk in the street whilst the 
others were putting in hard work? 

“Hard work — by Gad, all the rest will be nothing 
to this — raising money, why, it will be more like 
lifting it. I tell you, we have to carry this chap by 
assault; he’s as good as they make them, but y’see 


THE MAN WITHOUT IMAGINATION 23 

they made him a business man and that’s the worst 
sort. However, we’ll do it, if only Screed isn’t 
there. Screed’s his partner, hard as nails, no ideas 
about anything but wool Well, come on.” 

They entered the building, found Curlewis’ office, 
and were ushered right into the great man’s private 
room. 

Curlewis was standing with his back to the empty 
stove. He was a joyous and opulent-looking young 
man of some thirty years, immaculately dressed, 
easy-going, an optimist and enthusiast by birth, judg- 
ing from all appearances. Houghton, at sight of this 
gentleman, felt his spirits rising. Here was surely 
a man to further adventure, or, at least, not to cast 
cold water on the adventurous. 

He scarcely noticed a mean-looking man like a 
clerk seated at the desk near the window, till he 
heard Curlewis say in answer to Tillman: “Oh, 
Screed won’t be disturbed by you; he’s busy with his 
letters and he has no ears or eyes for anything else. 
Chatter away as much as you like. Be seated, gen- 
tlemen. Well, now, this proposition of yours; let’s 
hear it. Go into the thing right from the beginning 
so that I may have the lie of the whole matter, and 
take your time over it so that you may miss nothing 
important I’m not busy this morning.” 

“Ay, but I am,” said Screed, in a half-grumbling 
voice. 

“Well, then, shall I take them into another 
room?” replied his partner. “You said talking didn’t 
interfere with you.” 

“Neither does it. I was only telling these gentle- 


24 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


men that Curlewis and Screed aren’t so short of 
business that both partners can indulge in a fool’s 
holiday whenever it suits their pleasure.” 

Houghton thought he had never in all his life met, 
heard of, or imagined a more unpleasant person 
than Screed. Hard, material and practical, a living 
ledger, soulless as an inkstand, with no more imagi- 
nation than a ruler. Houghton fancied him sitting 
there, placed by Fate as a living antithesis to the 
opulent, easy-going, imaginative Curlewis. 

He saw in Screed the rock on which their venture 
might split, and he hated Screed accordingly. 

But Tillman was talking now: 

“Well,” said he, “we’ll get to business, then, at 
once, and if this is a fool’s holiday, maybe we’ll 
prove we’re not such fools as we look.” 

“Tillman,” put in Macquart, now speaking for 
the first time, “there’s no manner of use in blowing 
a man’s own trumpet in the first lines of a prospectus. 
Whether we’re fools or whether we’re not doesn’t 
matter a row of pins if the proposition is a good one. 
I’d a durned sight rather be led to a fortune by a 
fool than stick round making a living under the guide 
of a wise man.” Then turning to Curlewis: “I’m 
the head and front of this business, and looking at 
me you might say, ‘Here’s a nice sort of chap to 
come talking of fortune — why, he’s broke.’ Well, 
maybe I am; but if I am, it’s because I have been 
going about with knowledge in my head that’s worth 
more than the fools who won’t listen to me will ever 
make in business. Did you ever see a prospector 
who wasn’t broke till he managed to make good and 


THE MAN WITHOUT IMAGINATION 25 

hit the stuff he was after? Well, the long and the 
short of it is, I’m after John Lant’s treasure and I 
mean to lift it.” 

“John Lant?” said Curlewis, tentatively. 

“The same,” replied Macquart. “You don’t 
know who he is — or who he was, to speak more 
properly. Well, he was one of the chaps who used 
to trade from Sydney in the old days. It’s not so 
very long ago either, but long enough to have cov- 
ered his traces. You look up the records of Sydney 
and see the business they used to do up there North 
before Borneo was properly settled down. Rubber, 
and wax, and trepang, and birds’ nests and rice and 
opium, and the Lord knows what all ; gold, too, from 
the upper rivers, though by all accounts not much. 
Anyhow, there was the trade to be had for old guns 
and gin, and gunpowder to be sold to the Malays 
that were fighting the Dutch, and sold at five hun- 
dred per cent profit. 

“Then there were all sorts of side shows in the 
way of Barratry and Piracy and back-side ways of 
swindling, and Lant was up in every one of them, 

every one of them Thank you, I don’t mind 

if I do.” 

Curlewis had taken a box of cigars from a side 
table, and was offering the narrator a smoke. The 
box was passed round and Houghton lit up cheer- 
fully. Curlewis was evidently interested; only the 
infernal Screed, who evidently was a non-smoker, 
remained outside the charmed circle, and the oc- 
casional scratching of his pen could be heard like a 
comment on the words of Macquart. 


2 6 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


“Every one of them,” continued the Prospector, 
“and the tricks he didn’t find to his hand he in- 
vented; and the ones he found he embroidered on. 
Well, he went like that laying up the chips, till one 
day he had a dust up with the Dutch Government; 
and what he’d done I don’t know, but the Dutch 
Government confiscated his property. He’d invested 
his plunder in land at Macassar, and land in other 
parts owned by the Dutch. They say there was a 
big gambling shop in Macassar owned by him; any- 
how, all his savings were under the thumb of the 
Dutch. You see, he’d been doing so many shady 
things, I expect he didn’t like to have ownings where 
the British Government could touch them, which 
proves he was a fool, for the British Government is 
the best friend to a chap like that who has money 
enough to work the law. The Dutch Government 
didn’t bother about the law; they knew he was a 
rogue and they scooped his property. 

“It was when he called at Macassar with his ship 
that he got the news, and they impounded the ship. 
They impounded him and his crew, too, in an old 
calaboose place. He had stepped right off the blue 
sea into blue ruin, but that did not check Lant. He 
got wind in prison one day that a Dutch ship from 
Amsterdam had just come into the roads and that 
she was loaded up to her hatches with specie, to say 
nothing of general cargo. The Terschelling was her 
name. It was during the rains, and Lant and his 
men broke out of the calaboose that night, rowed off 
to the Terschelling and boarded her, shouting out 


THE MAN WITHOUT IMAGINATION 27 

‘Customs’ to the chap that was on duty. He flung 
them a ladder to help them on board. 

“Well, sir, I can tell you it didn’t take long for 
those fellows to do their work, the anchor watch 
being below sheltering from the rain and wind, all 
except the man who’d helped them aboard. They 
clapped the foc’s’le hatch to, stunned the look-out 
man and shoved him in the lee scuppers, knocked the 
shackle off the anchor chain and loosed the topsails, 
all before you could say ‘knife.’ Lant and his crew 
were handy men, and they had that brig away like 
picking a purse from a pocket, and there was noth- 
ing to chase them ; the Dutch gunboat on the Macas- 
sar station was poking about after pirate praus on 
the Bornean coast, and the biggest bit of piracy ever 
done in those waters going on right before Macas- 
sar. It all fell in like a tune, besides, no one wanted 
to chase them, for no one knew till the next morning 
when sun-up showed the Terschelling gone. 

“All the same, Lant would have been had most 
certainly and surely if he’d been an ordinary man; 
for where could he have taken the Terschelling f 
What port in God’s earth could he have taken her to, 
she smelling of Schiedam and Amsterdam a mile off, 
with all her papers made out in Dutch and the very 
timbers of her shouting her nationality. No, sir, it 
couldn’t be done. And then the specie. How could 
he have dealt with that? What would the Customs 
have said? You can fancy him getting those treasure 
chests ashore in any harbour, can’t you, just ’bout 
as easy as you can fancy a dromedary playing a fid- 
dle. Well, Lant knew better than that; he knew of 


28 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


a river on a certain coast, a river that came down and 
disembogued itself among coral reefs and sea la- 
goons, places where the Chinese go for trepang and 
where the pirate praus used to wash up and brush 
themselves after a fight, and he knew the chaps who 
were chief men there, for he had traded with them 
and fought with them till they were all as friendly 
as the members of a Baptist tea-party when the 
Sally Lunns are going round. 

“You see, gentlemen, the Malays and the Sea 
Dyaks have their vices no doubt, but they’re not wild 
animals any more than you and me. They have lots 
of straight in them, and once you have got their con- 
fidence by punching their heads, you can depend on 
them so long as you act straight by them. 

“Now this river I’m speaking of was not situated 
in Borneo, as I’ve told Mr. Tillman. It was and is 
situated on the New Guinea coast. The people that 
live on its banks aren’t New Guinea folk but Sea 
Dyaks from Borneo. What drove those Sea Dyaks 
to colonise a New Guinea river, I don’t know, but 
there they are, like a plum graft planted on an apple 
tree, as you may say. 

“Lant brought the Terschelling in here, telling the 
Dyaks that she was a new ship of his, and he got her 
up that river by warping and hedging till she was 
lying safe and sound in one of the upper reaches, 
with the mangroves brushing her yard arms and the 
monkeys playing the fool in her rigging, brought her 
up to the steep bank same as if it had been a quay 
side. 

“The rains were on, as I said, and that gave him 


THE MAN WITHOUT IMAGINATION 29 

very deep water, though it didn’t need the rains, for 
these rivers are scoured out deep and always have a 
big command of water. Some of the biggest hills 
in the world are in the middle of New Guinea and 
one of the finest lakes, too. 

“Lant told the Dyaks that he was tired of sea 
roving and had come to live among them for a while. 
He had got such a name for fighting that they almost 
looked on him as an immortal, which he pretty near 
was, for he was riddled with bullet wounds like a 
sieve yet as full of life as a grig. I reckon he was 
the sort of immortal a crocodile is. 

“Well, Lant played up to that game, and the cargo 
of the Terschelling being of no manner of use to 
him, he makes huge presents to the chief men, and 
by night on the sly he gets his cases of specie ashore 
and caches them. The value of that specie ran to, 
roughly, half a million as counted in English gold 
coin, or pretty near seven tons of gold.” 

Macquart paused for a moment to deal with his 
cigar, and let the statement sink into the intelli- 
gences of his audience. 

Curlewis alone spoke. 

“You are pretty precise,” said he. “Yet all that 
happened, as you say, a good while ago.” 

“Wait till I’ve finished,” said Macquart, “and 
you’ll see I’m speaking by the book. 

“Lant, having cleared everything of worth out of 
the Terschelling, set alight to her by accident and 
that’s the blackest bit of the business, for it seems 
she caught fire while the crew was aboard, and some- 


30 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


how or another the focVle hatch had been fastened, 
so the whole lot were fried ” 

“Good God!” said Curlewis. “Why, this chap 
murdered them.” 

“Seems like it,” said Macquart; “but one man of 
them escaped, a fellow to whom Lant had taken a 
fancy; he was a sprightly chap and Lant’s right 
hand, and so he escaped. 

“Well, Lant settled down among the Dyaks, wait- 
ing till things had blown over in Macassar and his 
name was forgotten, and he fell into the life there 
and grew lazy and took a wife to pass the time. The 
young fellow he had saved from the crew didn’t like 
this; he fancied, and rightly enough, that Lant was 
done for, sprung in the initiative and grown fat in 
the intellect; besides, Lant began to treat him as a 
subordinate. Besides, he had a wish for that lump 
of specie all for himself, and Lant didn’t give him 
even the promise of a sniff in. Besides, one day 
Lant’s Dyak wife presented him with a baby. Chaya 
was the wife’s name and Chaya they called the girl, 
and the young fellow saw that with a family growing 
up his chance of the specie was growing smaller, so 
he fixed it in his mind to do Lant in.” 

“What was that young fellow’s name?” suddenly 
asked Curlewis, with his eyes steadily fixed on Mac- 
quart. 

The question brought the tale-teller up all stand- 
ing. He hesitated a moment. 

“Smith was his name. Or let us call him Smith, 
for I’m not free, under promise — though he’s dead 
now — to give the real thing. We’ll call him Smith.” 


THE MAN WITHOUT IMAGINATION 31 

“Go on,” said Curlewis. 

“Well, this Smith, he fixed it in his mind to do 
Lant in, and so it happened. Lant one day disap- 
peared. He’d kept his dignity with the Dyaks and 
his distance, so that they still believed in him as a 
sort of God, not a real God, you’ll understand, but 
an Atu JaJan. White people among the Dyaks had 
the name once of being Atu Jalans, sort of spirits 
returned from the dead. They thought Lant had 
gone a trip to heaven or somewhere, and would re- 
turn, sure. 

“Well, Smith found himself free of Lant, but he 
hadn’t reckoned on Lant’s wife, Chaya. There’s 
nothing more sure than that women and dogs hunt 
by scent, and have some means of finding out things 
that men don’t suspect. Anyhow, Lant’s wife took 
a down on Smith. You see, she didn’t think Lant a 
god for the very good reason that he was her hus- 
band, and she suspected Smith of having done him 
in, and she got up a yarn about him, said he had 
witched her baby, which was only three months old 
then, and she got lots of believers. They had never 
cottoned to Smith from the first, and they went for 
him, and he escaped down that river by the skin of 
his teeth — that was fifteen years ago. He got off in 
a prau and was picked up by an English ship, but 
he’d taken with him the bearings of the cache and the 
chart of just where it was. Much good they did 
him. 

“Three years he knocked about the world, and 
then he had a dust-up somewhere in the French col- 
onies and killed a Frenchman and got sent to Nou- 


32 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


mea for life. He was stuck there seven years and 
escaped. He still had his chart and his knowledge 
of the cache. Much good they did him. The world 
is so chock-full of fools he could get no one to listen 
to him. Then I met him two years back and did him 
a service, and before he pegged out he gave me full 
directions and the chart, and more than that, the 
New Guinea coast map with the river marked down. 

It was easy for him to put his finger on the point 

There’s no mistaking the entrance to that river.” 

Macquart rose and threw his cigar end into the 
grate. Then he sat down again. Curlewis, still 
standing before the stove, said nothing. With his 
hands in his pockets, his cigar in the corner of his 
mouth and his eyes fixed on the floor, he seemed 
oblivious of the presence of the others and to be 
contemplating possibilities. Screed, seeming to have 
lost all interest in the proceedings, was busily writing. 

‘‘Well,” said Tillman, breaking silence, “that’s a 
straight yarn if ever there was one; all the details 
and a chart to back them. I’m ready to risk my life 
on the thing and my bottom dollar Well, Cur- 

lewis, what do you say?” 

Now Bobby Tillman had up to this known only 
the lighter side of Curlewis. He had played cards 
with him, attended race meetings, met him at the 
clubs and grown to regard him as a good companion, 
an easy-going man ready to fling his money about, 
and asking nothing better than amusement. He 
fancied that he knew Curlewis ; as a matter of fact, 
he only knew the surface of that gentleman. 

Curlewis, despite his surface irregularities, was 


THE MAN WITHOUT IMAGINATION 33 

one of the most level-headed men in Sydney, one of 
the hardest business men in the Colonies, one of the 
least imaginative of traders. His business self and 
his social self were as widely different one from the 
other as the two profiles of Janus, and the business 
side of the man was the real side. 

“Well,” said Curlewis, taking the cigar from his 
mouth and tipping the ash into the grate. “It’s an 
interesting story, but I am not inclined to back you 
in any financial undertaking based on it.” 

“But, good heavens!” said Tillman, “think for a 
moment. This isn’t a financial undertaking but a 
speculation, the grandest speculation that ever flew 
in Sydney.” 

“That’s just my reason,” said Curlewis. “I never 
speculate.” 

“Never speculate Why, what’s horse rac- 

ing?” 

“Gambling — and I never gamble.” 

“Oh, good Lord !” said Tillman. “Why, I’ve seen 
you.” 

“Yes, you have seen me back a horse for a few 
pounds, and I think you have even seen me lose a 
few pounds at Bridge — but I never gamble. When 
I say I never gamble, I don’t refer to the few shil- 
lings I amuse myself by losing or winning at the card- 
table or on the race-course, and even in that feeble 

way my losings and winnings are negligible * 

Last year” — he took a small note-book from his 
pocket and referred to it — “my losings on the race- 
course amounted to seven pounds, and my winnings 
at Bridge” — he turned to another page — “to four 


34 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


pounds ten. Two pounds ten, you sec, I spent last 
year on this sort of work, and, if my memory serves 
me, I came out the year before five pounds to the 
good.” 

Tillman, dumbfounded at the mechanical and or- 
derly and entirely sane and sedate individual dis- 
closing before his eyes, said nothing. It was like 
watching a butterfly breaking to pieces and a grub 
emerging from the debris. 

“Of course,” went on the other, “one may say that 
all business is a speculation, and so in a way it is; 
but one may also say that all speculations are not 
business, and in saying that one hits on the main 
truth that one must recognise if one wishes for suc- 
cess in business or life. Now if I were to put, say, a 
thousand pounds, into this venture of yours, I might 
lose it or I might win it back and a good deal of 
money on top of it. But win or lose would not alter 
the fact that I would have broken my principle. 
Besides, though the story bears the evidence of 
genuineness, I do not think, honestly and speaking 
as a business man without any intention of giving 
offence, that any sane business man would risk his 
money on it. I don’t think you will carry that story 
about in Sydney to a profit. I am cruel only to be 
kind. I think you are wasting your time all of you, 
unless ” 

“Yes?” said Tillman. 

“The three of you put your heads together and 
write it out. The Bulletin might give you something 
for it.” 

It was Macquart who broke the stony silence that 


THE MAN WITHOUT IMAGINATION 35 

followed, and he broke it In an unexpected way. 

“Mr. Curlewis is right,” said he. “No sane man 
in Sydney would part on such a prospectus. I’m not 
wishing to be rude to Mr. Curlewis, but sane men 
don’t do these things, it’s only the insane men that 
rise to a big occasion. I reckon Rhodes or some chap 
like that is what we want and we won’t find him in 
Sydney, but I’m going to put my hand on that stuff 
if I have to walk to New Guinea ’long the great Bar- 
rier Reef and dig for it with my teeth when I get 
there. I’ve been held back from it too long. My 
constitution won’t stand it. Well, thank you for the 
cigar and good-day to you, and when I see you again, 
I hope you’ll be tearing your hair at having been 
out of it. Come along, boys.” 

He had come in last, he went out first, leading the 
others and looking not in the least dejected. 

When they were gone, Screed stopped his writing 
and turned to Curlewis. 

“Do you know what I am thinking,” said Screed, 
“I am thinking that chap Macquart never met any 
one called Smith. It’s his story, first-hand.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“I mean, it was he that did the other man in, 
Lant — or whatever his name was — and that it was 
he who was sent to Noumea.” 

“Anyhow, he won’t get any of my money,” said 
Curlewis. “Lot of d — d lunatics — but I won’t say it 
was a bad story. That chap can pitch a yarn.” 

Screed finished his letter, then he rose and went 
out, telling the other as he took his hat from the peg 
by the door that he would not be long. 


CHAPTER III 


SCREED 

O UT in the street, Tillman was the first to speak. 

“Well,” said he, “I never thought Curlewis 
would have drawn blank like that. I thought it was 
a dead certain thing; he was the last man I’d have ex- 
pected to put forward all those objections. I thought 
he was a sportsman. ’Pears I was wrong. Seems 
to me you never know what’s really back of a man 
till it comes to the pinch. Well, we’ll have to do 
without him and find some one else. I tell you, I’m 
not going to be done on this thing. It has got into 
my blood.” 

“The worst thing about it, for me, is that I can’t 
wait,” said Houghton. “I’m broke. I simply must 
get some money, if only to pay my landlady.” 

“How much do you owe her?” asked Tillman. 
“Oh, it’s not much, less than two pounds; but 
there you are, two pounds wants a lot of getting 
when you’re on your beam ends and haven’t a trade.” 
Tillman laughed. 

He had only known Houghton for a few hours, 
but in Sydney a few hours in certain circles is equal, 
as far as acquaintanceship goes, to many days in 
England. 

The Expedition also had woven its bonds between 
36 


SCREED 37 

them, and then Houghton was a man to get on with 
at sight. 

“You don’t worry about that,” said Tillman. “I’ll 
see you through if I have to borrow the money. The 
thing we want now is a drink; let’s get back to Lam- 
perts’. Who knows but we may get some one there 
to help.” 

It was now a little after twelve o’clock. The day 
was blazing hot, and they got on a passing tram, 
Tillman paying for the tickets. 

Lamperts’ was crowded, and the crowd was mixed 
and wonderful to behold. Men from up country, 
tanned and fresh from the sun-swept desolation of 
vast spaces; men from the sea, from western ports 
or the hazy heat-ridden harbours of the China coast 
or Dutch Settlements; clerks from business houses; 
newspaper men; racing men; men on the lookout for 
something to turn up; Yankees, Colonials, English, 
Irish, Scotch, a German or two; all in a haze of blue 
cigar smoke, laughing, drinking, chattering, or 
dumb, and on the watch. 

Tillman, releasing himself from his numerous 
friends, herded his fellow adventurers in a corner 
by the bar and stood drinks. 

“There’s not a bit of good in being down in the 
mouth,” said he. “We’ll all go and have luncheon 
presently, and I’ll see about that money for you, 
Houghton. There’s a man called Drake I’m expect- 
ing to see in here; he’s richer than Curlewis. I 
wish I’d thought of him first; anyhow, it’s better late 
than never.” 

Macquart, standing with his drink in his hand, 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


38 

seemed for the first time to have lost something of 
his enthusiasm. 

“You don’t expect me to tell that yarn twice in one 
day, do you?” he asked. “It’s not as if it was a 
made-up yarn, then one might sling it as often as you 
want. Being what it is, it takes it out of one.” 

“You’ll be able to sling it all right after a bottle 
of champagne,” said Tillman. “You’ll be — hello!” 
He stopped short. 

The door had just opened, and a man who had 
entered was pushing his way through the crowd to- 
wards the bar. 

It was Screed. 

He had sighted Tillman and his friends, and was 
making towards them. 

Now Screed was rarely seen about town, very 
rarely seen in bars. This dry-as-dust individual was 
ungiven to conviviality. 

Men looked on Screed somewhat as we look on 
the unpleasant necessities of life ; he was considered 
to be the buckram at the back of Curlewis, the thing 
that gave stiffening and solidity to the business. Cur- 
lewis fostered this idea. It suited him to pose as the 
butterfly, the ornamental partner, the easy-going, 
irresponsible, kindly, clap-you-on-the-shoulder unbus- 
iness man, with a testy, level-headed partner. As a 
matter of fact, Arthur Curlewis was the genius of 
the firm, the keenest business man in Sydney and the 
hardest in the Colonies. 

Requests for loans, time extension and so forth, 
were always granted by Curlewis and negatived by 
Screed. Curlewis had never, or scarcely ever, shown 


SCREED 


39 


his hand so openly as he did to Bobby Tillman that 
morning. With most other men he would have re- 
ferred the proposition to Screed with secret instruc- 
tions to refuse it. But he had a great contempt for 
Tillman, and, besides that, he wished to set Tillman 
down. 

Bobby had been a bit too familiar of late, and 
Curlewis was not over-pleased at the confidence with 
which Mr. Tillman had brought forward his wild- 
cat scheme as though he, Curlewis, were a fair mark 
for the first adventurer to shoot at. 

“Why, it’s Mr. Screed,” said Tillman, and it will 
be noticed that whilst Curlewis was Curlewis to him, 
Screed had the honour of the prefix. “Why, this is 
quite a surprise. Won’t you join us in a drink?” 

“No, thanks,” said Screed. “I never drink be- 
tween meals. I came down here thinking it was 
likely I might meet you. I want to have a word with 
you.” 

He led Tillman to the door. 

“Bring those two men to my rooms this evening 
at seven,” said he. “No, not seven, eight. I want 
to have a talk with the three of you.” 

“A talk with us?” 

“Yes, just a few words.” 

“What about?” 

“About that business you brought to Curlewis. 
I may be able to do something.” 

“You?” 

“Yes. Me. And don’t you say a word on this 
matter to any one. Not even to Curlewis.” 

“Well, I’m d— d,” said Bobby. 


40 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


“That’s maybe likely,” said Screed; “but all the 
same, bring your men along, and don’t enter into any 
negotiations over the business with any other party. 
I’m interested.” 

“Oh, I say, this is good, this is ripping! You of 
all people! Say, won’t you have a drink?” 

“No, thank you; and don’t go drinking yourself 
if you want me to do business.” 

“I — ” said the other, “I haven’t touched anything 
this morning, only soft drinks. Think I’m such a 
fool? No, sir, when I have business on hand, I’m a 
Quaker. Eight o’clock?” 

“Eight o’clock at my rooms; io Bury Street.” 

Screed opened the door and slipped out hurriedly, 
as though ashamed of his visit to the place ; and Till- 
man returned to the others radiant. 

“We’re safe,” said he. “It’s a sure thing. Screed 
is going to take it up.” He told of the conversation 
with Screed. 

Macquart listened attentively, then he said: 

“That fixes it. I noticed that all the time he was 
writing, he had one ear on my story; he’s harpooned. 
Well, he’s a clever man, a much cleverer man than 
his partner ; and he has the money, you say?” 

“Oh, he’s full of money,” said the enthusiastic 
Tillman. “He’s always making it and he never 
spends anything.” 

“You never can tell what a man spends,” replied 
Macquart, “or how he spends it.” 


CHAPTER IV 


THE CHART 

S YDNEY, taking it all together, is one of the most 
delightful cities in the world. It breathes the 
air of the Pacific, and the poetry of the Islands mixes 
with the roar and rumble of trade. No other mari- 
time city has such a harbour, few cities of the world 
such a sky; Cadmus would have loved it. Here 
above everything else is the spirit of Youth; Daring 
and High Adventure breathe in the Pacific wind and 
fill the lungs of the men who pursue Trade to the 
confines of the earth. 

In this city of youth, the three adventurers were 
at no loss for amusement during the hours separat- 
ing them from their appointment with Screed. Till- 
man, having raised some money, invited them to 
luncheon at a restaurant, after which they took them- 
selves off to Farm Cove, where Tillman had some 
friends amongst the Navy people. Here he secured 
the loan of a boat, some lines and bait, and they went 
fishing for bream. 

“This is better than sitting in restaurants and 
places,” said the ingenuous Tillman. “There’s no 
drink to be had, and you get the fresh air and you 
get fish — sometimes. Besides, you can think out 
here better than ashore.” 


41 


42 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


Macquart in the stern sheets, lounging, with one 
foot across the gunnel and his old hat tilted over his 
eyes, nodded. He had done nothing, neither rowed 
nor helped with the lines. He seemed the concretion 
of Laziness. When manual work was forward, it 
was always the same, the engineer of fortune shrank 
into himself, and it was noticeable now that the two 
younger men, so far from even mildly resenting or 
jesting at the supineness of the Wonder Worker, ac- 
cepted it. He was the thing that interested them at 
this moment more than any other thing in life. Leav- 
ing aside the fact that he held all the threads from 
which they hoped to weave their fortune, the man 
himself exercised a potent spell on their imagina- 
tions. The fishing proved good, but even the excite- 
ment of hauling in red bream and trevally did not 
entirely obliterate the figure of Fortune in the stern 
of the boat, or the fascination of the thought of what 
it might lead them to. 

At five o’clock they hauled in their lines; Tillman 
presented the fish they had caught to the owner of 
the boat in return for the loan of it, then they went 
off to tea at an inn, and at eight o’clock punctually 
they appeared in Bury Street. Bury Street, in the 
suburbs of the city, has a touch of France about it; 
bright-looking little villas set in prim little gardens 
alternate with semi-detached residences. At one ex- 
tremity it tails off into workmen’s cottages, and it 
ends, frankly discarding the higher respectabilities, in 
a steam laundry. Screed’s house was at the better 
end of the street, and he was working in his garden 
when they arrived. 


THE CHART 


43 


He had a passion for gardening. Screed was one 
of those broody individuals very difficult to assess at 
their proper value either in morals or money. He 
had risen from nothing, yet he was reputed to be ex- 
ceedingly well-off. He had the reputation for wealth, 
yet he never gave away a penny and he made no 
show at all. He was plain almost to ugliness and he 
dressed abominably. All these facts stood him well 
in business; they had gained for him the reputation 
of being a solid man. Dingy as a moth, he corrected 
the gaudiness of his partner, Curlewis, and he knew 
it. With one of the most brilliant business intellects 
in Sydney, he was condemned to hide his shining light 
behind the shutters of the firm, to do all the thinking 
and let Curlewis do all the talking. 

He might have escaped from all this by starting 
in business for himself, yet he did not. There was 
some want in his nature, some timidity in entering 
upon a lone venture, some defect that made it impos- 
sible for him to row alone — and he knew it, and he 
hated Curlewis for it. 

It was not a melodramatic hatred. He would not 
have hurt his partner in business or in person for the 
world; it was more in the nature of a good substan- 
tial dislike based on the firm foundation of his — 
Screed’s — limitations. 

Now when Macquart had told his tale that morn- 
ing in the office, Screed’s unerring instinct for truth 
where money was concerned had warned him that 
here was Truth. He did not think it highly probable 
that an expedition started after this long buried gold 
would succeed in bringing it back, but he considered 


44 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


it highly possible. He saw in Macquart an adven- 
turer of a new type, he felt his soul; with that pro- 
found instinct for men that never erred, he was not 
baffled by the strangeness of this new specimen of 
humanity that had come before him. 

He had listened to Curlewis casting cold water 
on the story and he had made up his mind. He 
would investigate the matter for himself, and if he 
saw a chance of success in it, he would push it. The 
thing might fail — if it succeeded, the money returns 
would be less to him than the triumph over Curlewis. 
Besides this, Screed was a man of imagination with 
an instinct for adventure, but no stomach for it. Be- 
sides this, he possessed the gambling instinct none the 
less strong from long suppression. 

He gave his guests good-evening, put away the 
hose with which he had been watering the garden 
and led them into the house. 

Houghton looked around him as they entered. 
It was a long, long time since he had felt the atmos- 
phere of comfort and home. He had been con- 
demned to lodging-houses and cheap hotels, and life 
on ship-board as a second-class passenger, and he 
was a man who possessed a fine sense for all the 
things that make for ease and quiet enjoyment of 
existence. 

The lamps were lighted in the little hall where 
Maori paddles and spears shewed on the walls, with 
here and there an etching or a rare print, and the 
room into which Screed led them, half library, half 
sitting-room, gave more evidence of the quiet good- 
taste of the owner. 


THE CHART 


45 


Whiskey, a syphon of soda-water and cigars stood 
on a side table, and Screed, having helped his guests 
and asked them to be seated, plunged into the busi- 
ness on hand. 

Standing before the fireplace with his hands in his 
pockets, he cross-questioned Macquart upon points 
in his story, and the latter answered up without hesi- 
tation or demur, evidently pleased with the business- 
like manned of his questioner. 

“And now,” said Screed, after he had finished, “let 
us look at that map you told me of.” 

Macquart rose up, fetched his hat, which he had 
placed on a chair by the door, and took from the 
lining of it a folded piece of paper yellow as parch- 
ment. He spread it on the table before Screed, and 
the others gathering round looked over the wool 
broker’s shoulder as he sat with his spectacles on his 
nose and the paper before him. 

It was a rough map of the southern coast of New 
Guinea, very rough in detail except for a certain sec- 
tion of the coast almost due north of Cape York on 
the Australian shore. Here the marking was much 
more minute, shewing several rivers and one whose 
disemboguement was indicated by a cross. 

“That’s the river,” said Macquart, “that one with 
the cross to it. The shore is pretty hilly around 
there and there’s a big rock standing up on the shore 
to the east of the mouth. The Pulpit Rock it’s called. 
It looks like a lighthouse from the sea and you can 
sight it a long way out. All round there is coral 
reef, but the course in to the river is a clear fair- 
way. You see, the fresh water has eaten the coral 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


4 6 

down. There’s no difficulty in navigating at all, 
though it looks bad enough from seaward.” 

Screed got up and going to a portfolio lying on a 
ledge of one of the book-cases, took some charts 
from it. 

“I borrowed these to-day,” said he. “Let’s see 
what they have to say on the matter.” 

He spread out a chart of the waters from the 
northern boundary of the great quadrangle of the 
Gulf of Carpentaria right up to the New Guinea 
coast and including Torres Straits, and by it another 
chart of the northern part of Torres Straits and the 
New Guinea coast directly north of Prince of Wales’ 
Island. 

This was the important chart, as it gave more 
particularly the reef soundings and the rivers. 

“Ah, that’s something like,” said Macquart. 
“Now you can see whether my map is correct or not. 
Look, there’s the river, there are the reefs, there’s 
where she comes out. Look at the soundings of the 
channel, ten fathom water and seven fathom right 
up to the mouth where it rises to twelve. You see, 
there’s no sand to silt up the mouth, that river brings 
down very little stuff with it, too. It’s different from 
the other New Guinea rivers, that mostly come out 
through mud banks and mangroves. It’s gin-bright 
from that big reach right down to the mouth. I 
reckon it’s such an old river that it has eaten its way 
right down to bed rock. You see, it draws most of 
its water from the big lakes, it doesn’t draw from a 
lot of mushy little streams.” 

Screed said nothing; he was still intent on the 


THE CHART 


47 

soundings and on the comparison of the chart with 
the rough map of Macquart. 

“Well,” said he, at last, “I think we may take it 
that your map is not in error. Now let us get to 
business. I will go into your venture, on conditions.” 

Tillman drew a deep breath, and Houghton, who 
had been hanging in breathless suspense, glanced at 
him. Then they went to the other side of the table 
and took their seats, whilst Macquart, bright of eye, 
drew a chair up and sat down close to Screed. The 
meeting had suddenly become a conference, and the 
papers upon the table did not detract from that im- 
pression. 

“The business,” went on Screed, “is the biggest 
gamble that was ever placed on the market in Syd- 
ney. My partner Curlewis gave you his ideas about 
gambling this morning, and he was right; but he did 
not entirely touch the point. Gambling is only dan- 
gerous and only wrong from a business point of view 
when indulged in outside limits. Now if 1 were to 
take a thousand pounds and use it in speculation or 
horse-racing for the purpose of winning money, the 
danger to me would be not the danger of losing my 
thousand, but the danger of losing it and trying to 
get my losses back. Men never are ruined by their 
first losses in gambling; they are always ruined by 
trying to get those losses back. 

“But if I take a thousand pounds and put it in this 
venture of yours, and, if this venture fails, lose my 
thousand, by no means would I risk more money 
to get my thousand back in this particular venture. 


48 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


I hope I am not worrying you, but I like always to 
explain what is in my mind.” 

“Not at all — not at all,” cried Tillman and 
Houghton. Macquart said nothing; he was rubbing 
his hands, palms together, under the table. He 
nodded to the others in approval, but not a word 
escaped his lips. 

“I have determined, then, to take a thousand 
pounds,” went on Screed, “and — lose it.” 

Macquart broke into a laugh. 

“That is the spirit I like,” said he. “That’s what 
brings success.” 

“My terms,” finished Screed, rather coldly, “will 
be half profits.” 

“Half profits,” said Tillman. 

Macquart said nothing. 

“There are three of us ” began Houghton, 

then he stopped and glanced at the others as if to 
find out what was in their minds, but they gave him 
no lead. 

Screed, who had taken a paper and pencil from his 
pocket, placed the paper on the table and holding 
the pencil between his fingers went on : 

“If the money is there and if it amounts to the sum 
named, a third share — after deducting my allowance 
— will mean that each of you receives a very large 
fortune.” 

“I am not against Mr. Screed taking half profits,” 
said Macquart, speaking to the others. “He fits out 
the expedition, we are no use at all without him. A 
thousand that brings him in two-hundred-and-fifty 


THE CHART 


49 

per cent will be a good investment — but then there’s 
the risk.” 

“Oh, I’m not objecting,” said Houghton. “I’m 
only thinking that there are three of us, you, Till- 
man, and myself. How do we stand towards one an- 
other in the matter of sharing?” 

“That’s the rub,” said Tillman. 

Screed moved restlessly, and Macquart, as though 
fearful of any friction making the wool broker break 
away from the business, cut in. 

“We won’t quarrel over that,” said he. “Right 
here and now I’ll settle it. We are the three work- 
ing partners and will share alike. Eighty thousand 
is enough for me, I’m no dud to go scraping after 
the last halfpenny, I only want enough to be com- 
fortable while I live — what do you say?” 

This splendid generosity nearly did for the busi- 
ness. For a moment, Screed took fright, and whilst 
Tillman was shaking the generous one’s hand, the 
turn of a hair would have made the wool broker 
cry off. 

Instinct told him that Macquart and Generosity 
formed a suspicious alliance, instinct told him that 
this man would most certainly diddle his partners if 
he had the chance. Then Reason reassured him. 
The gold was useless to Macquart without a man to 
handle it for him and get rid of it, and he — Screed — 
was the only man for that purpose. This was not 
exactly a shady job, but it was, so to speak, an extra- 
governmental job. Macquart trying to dispose of 
the treasure off his own bat would rouse enquiries, 
and then all sorts of claims would come down on the 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


50 

money, it would be held up, and if the treasure 
seekers received a tithe of it after years of worry, 
they would be fortunate. Screed had the means to 
obviate all that. 

Besides, though Macquart might try to diddle his 
partners, Tillman and Houghton were not children, 
but very wide-awake individuals indeed, and well 
able to look after their own interests and the in- 
terests of Screed as well. 

So, instead of breaking off from the business, he 
opened the paper which he had taken from his pocket 
and spread it on the table beside the charts. 

“I have made out a few lines with reference to 
this business,” said he. “It’s not exactly an agree- 
ment, for between you and me a legal agreement is 
not of much count, considering the fact that not one 
of us will be able to invoke the law, seeing that the 
law if it stepped in would place its hand most cer- 
tainly on the money, it’s just a letter of promise, so 
to speak, from the three of you, stating that in view 
of the fact that I am fitting out your expedition you 
agree to divide equally with me all monies accruing 
from that expedition. Then,” finished Screed, with 
cold jocularity, “in the unlikely event of the death 
of any one of you, I would be assured of half his 
share, and in the more unlikely event of the three 
of you trying to play me false — don’t say anything, 
Mr. Tillman, I am only making a legal joke — I 
would be able to pursue you and call the Law in, not 
to get me my money but to prevent you from enjoy- 
ing yours, and this document, you will notice,” fin- 
ished Screed, “says nothing about treasure at all, so 


THE CHART 


ST 

that should I be driven to pursue you in law, I am 
free to make any statement I like about the object 
of your venture; for instance, I might say it was a 
pearling venture, leaving my lawyer to dig out of you 
in open court all about the treasure.” 

Macquart said nothing; the tortuous, cautious 
and trap-like nature of Screed’s mind thus suddenly 
disclosed seemed to have disconcerted him. Tillman 
flushed and Houghton, with a spark in his eyes, 
looked straight across the table at the wool broker. 

“We aren’t going to chisel you,” said he. “You 
are dealing with gentlemen, I hope.” 

“Mr. Houghton,” said Screed, “there are no such 
things as gentlemen in business, there are only men. 
There is no such thing as friendship in business, only 
calculation and Profit and Loss. In business, one 
must secure the safety of one’s interests by every pos- 
sible means, and in going into a wildcat venture of 
this sort, I am going to tie you all up to my interests 

by every possible means There, you have it 

quite plain. Now will you all sign this paper, please 
— if you want my thousand pounds.” 

Macquart signed first, then Tillman, then 
Houghton. 

Screed put the document away in a drawer and lit 
a cigar, the first he had smoked that evening. 

“Now,” said he, “we have settled that and we can 
get to work. I have my hand on the boat you want; 
she’s a fifty-foot fishing yawl built by Bowers, she’s 
only six years old, she has been in the pearling busi- 
ness and she was re-fitted last year. I have some 
interest in shipping matters and only a week ago Mr, 


52 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


Culloch took me over her, wanting me to buy. I 
telephoned to him this afternoon and found she was 
still unsold, so I told him to hold her for me on an 
option. You are a good schooner sailor, Tillman; 
what do you say to a yawl?” 

“I’d sooner handle a yawl than a schooner,” said 
Tillman; “best rig in the world if one is short- 
handed.” 

“I know all about yawls,” said Houghton. 
“Ought to; I owned one for a year and lived in her 
— only a thirty-footer though.” 

“I haven’t used yawls, but I’ve used every other 
rig from a jackass barque to a catamaran,” said 
Macquart. “Sail handling is pretty much a matter 
of instinct, I reckon; besides, I’m ready to do the 
navigating. I’m not an Ai navigator, but I’ve got all 
the essentials and I know the road. Give me a 
chronometer properly wound and set, and a decent 
sextant and charts, and I reckon I can make good. 
Why, down Sooloo way I sailed with a Dutchman, 
he had a pearl boat but he was crazy with rum most 
of the time, and I guess he was the first sailor after 
Noah. He’d got one of those Amstel Charts of the 
Sooloo waters, made in Amsterdam they were, and 
they’d got dolphins and mermaids figured on them, 
and for sextant he used a back-stick, one of the first 
sextants ever used. That hooker would have been 
the Flying Dutchman, only she didn’t fly, yet we 
made out, somehow or another.” 

“I can do a bit of navigating myself,” said Till- 
man, “and Houghton here tells me he has got the 
rudiments.” 


THE CHART 


53 


“Not much more,” said Houghton. 

“That’s all to the good,” replied Screed, who was 
putting the charts away. “The question was upper- 
most in my mind whether we would require a navi- 
gating officer, and I didn’t much like the idea. We 
don’t want any more than we can help in this job, but 
you can take a black fellow with you to give a 
hand.” 

Macquart rose to his feet. 

“Well,” said he, “that’s settled; and when can we 
see the hooker and how long do you expect to be in 
getting stores on board?” 

“We will arrange all that to-morrow,” said 
Screed. “I want the three of you to be here at six 
o’clock in the morning, sharp at six; I have to be at 
the office at nine. The yawl is lying near Farm Cove 
and I want to take you over her. I will have some 
coffee and sandwiches here for you at six. And now, 
one point more. This business is a secret. I don’t 
want my partner to know of it, I don’t want my 
friends to know of it, and I don’t want the authori- 
ties to know of it. You are going on a pearling ven- 
ture, that is your explanation to any one who may 
poke his nose into the affair. If the real business 
leaks out, I will throw up everything.” 

“We’ll be mum,” said Tillman. “You may rest 
assured — and now about ready money. I have, 
enough for myself, but Houghton here is badly 
placed, in fact, he’s on the rocks — and as to Mr. 
Macquart ” 

“Oh, a hundred dollars will do me,” said Mac- 


54 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


quart, “or less; I’m not bothering about present 
money, I’m only thinking of the expedition.” 

“Ten pounds would do me,” said Houghton. “I 
owe four pounds to my landlord and six will carry 
me on till we start.” 

Screed took ten sovereigns from a drawer and 
divided them between Macquart and Houghton. 

“That will carry you on for the present,” said he, 
“and mind, six sharp to-morrow.” 

“By the way,” said Tillman, as they took their de- 
parture, “what’s the name of the yawl?” 

“The Barracuda ” replied Screed. 


CHAPTER V 


CAPTAIN HULL 

S AN FRANCISCO might have possessed the 
greatest harbour in the world, the chance was 
thrown away for want of a genius who would have 
included all the great waterways known now as San 
Francisco Bay, San Pablo Bay and Suisun Bay under 
the generic name Harbour. Sydney was wiser. The 
great bay which Nature presented to her is in reality 
a nest of harbours; all sorts of creeks and coves give 
wharfage and anchorage to all sorts of craft. 

Farm Cove is the naval anchorage, and beyond 
Farm Cove in the direction of the heads lies a narrow 
bay used mostly for fishing boats and yachts of small 
tonnage. The Barracuda was anchored here, and 
here next morning at seven o’clock, Screed and his 
companions turned up to inspect the yawl. They 
hired a boat and Tillman sculled them across to her. 
There was no watchman on board, and so whilst 
making their survey they could talk unhindered. 

Tillman was at once taken with the craft. He was 
a born sailor, and all his life in Sydney had not 
dimmed the instinctive eye that told him at a glance 
the worth of the Barracuda as a sea boat. She was, 
as Screed had said, a fifty-footer, decked over all, 
possessing a cabin aft that would give accommoda- 
55 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


56 

tion to five at a pinch, a tiny foVsle forward and a 
caboose where one could scarcely swing a cat but 
which was good enough for all their purposes. She 
had two boats, a collapsible and a four-oared clinker- 
built scow, possessing mast and lug sail. She was 
white painted and the brass work had been polished 
up till it shone in the morning light, the rigging both 
standing and running was in perfect condition, as 
were the spars, including the spare booms and gaffs 
stowed on deck; the blocks were in perfect order, the 
narrow white planking of the deck holy-stoned and 
scrubbed till each teak dowel shewed, and there was 
not a scrap of raffle or canvas bucket out of place or 
a loose rope end to be seen. 

“She’s a peach,” said Tillman. 

He led the way down below to the cabin. Though 
the tiny ports were closed and the sky-light, there was 
no trace of must or cockroaches, or that fusty smell 
that comes to an old ship or a vessel that has been 
neglected; the bunk bedding was good. Tillman, 
who had taken command of the inspecting party, 
poked his nose everywhere, into the tiny pantry, 
which contained everything in the form of crockery 
ware necessary, into the lazarette and the lockers. 
He opened the ports, glanced at the tell-tale compass 
overhead, then, leading the way on deck again, he 
inspected the foVsle, noted that all the cooking ar- 
rangements in the caboose were in order, that the 
Rippingill stove was next to new and the pots and 
pans polished and speckless. 

Then he turned to Screed. 

“Well,” said he, “all I can say is she is ready for 


CAPTAIN HULL 


57 

sea, and I’d start in her this afternoon if the pro- 
visions and water were aboard.” 

“There’s nothing wanting,” said Macquart, “ex- 
cept the charts and chronometer and the sailing or- 
ders.” 

“I’m glad you are of my way of thinking,” said 
Screed. “I’m not a practical seaman myself, but, as 
I told you, I have some interest in shipping and I was 
sure this boat would fill the requirements. She is 
easily handled, I know that from Mackenzie, her 
last skipper.” 

“She’ll handle herself,” said Tillman. “I 
shouldn’t mind taking her round the world with only 
Houghton here to help. You could heave her to for 
a rest whenever you wanted, she’d sleep hove to. 
Well, I will sign on for one, and there’s no use wast- 
ing time asking Macquart or Houghton if they object 
to coming because the dinner napkins haven’t pink 

fringes How long will it take you to get the 

provisions and everything on board?” 

“A week will do it,” said Screed. 

“Let’s fix it, then,” said Macquart. “To-day is 
Wednesday. We’ll start this day week, weather 
permitting — that is to say, unless there’s a hurricane 
blowing.” 

“This day week,” said Screed, “and now I must 
get back to the office; unlike you people, I am the 
slave of Time. I will figure out the stores list dur- 
ing the day and put it in the hands of Macdermott. 
He’ll do everything, charts — stores — everything. 
However, the three of you might drop in and see me 
to-night after supper to go more closely over details, 


5 8 THE GOLD TRAIL 

and I will have a duplicate of the stores list to shew 
you.” 

They rowed ashore, and Screed went off in a 
hurry to his office, leaving the others to return to 
the city at their leisure. 

“Screed’s ashamed to be seen with us,” said Till- 
man; “not that we are so disreputable, but he’s an 
awful old stick, or pretends to be, and I suppose I 
have a reputation, rather, for jocularity and high 
living; well, it don’t matter as long as he stumps up 
the coin. Come along, you chaps, I’m going to have 
some breakfast.” 

The three proceeded from the waterside to the 
city. It was a glorious morning, with a blue and 
blazing sky and wind enough to temper the heat. 
The white gulls fishing in the harbour came drifting 
on the wind occasionally right overhead, and their 
creaky cries mixed with the rumble of traffic and 
the trade of the wharves; the spirits of early morn- 
ing, and summer, and youth, and adventure were 
abroad, and Houghton knew again that it was good 
to be alive. 

Macquart was in high good humour. That mys- 
terious person never smiled, his gaiety only finding 
expression in a certain contained vivacity of manner 
and movement unmistakable when you knew the man. 
This morning, as he walked side by side with Tillman 
and the other, it was very noticeable; Macquart was 
in feather. Everything was going well with him, his 
plans were succeeding to a charm, the ghostly treas- 
ure he had been carrying about the world for the last 
fifteen years, the phantom treasure that had nearly 


CAPTAIN HULL 


59 

ruined him, was about to materialise, soon he would 
be touching gold, red, warm, chinking gold. 

Macquart, as he walked, scarcely heard the chat- 
ter of his companions; he was seeing yellow, his past 
was forgotten, the present scarcely felt and the fu- 
ture entirely absorbing his thoughts, when, turning 
a street corner, a hand clapped him on the shoulder 
and a voice cried : 

“B — y Joe, by all the Powers!’’ 

Tillman, wheeling round at the sound of the voice, 
saw the questioner with his hand still on Macquart’s 
shoulder. A big, sailor-like man he was, rough-look- 
ing and badly dressed, yet with no touch of the 
fo’c’sle about him. 

Macquart looked blighted, the blood had left his 
face, leaving it a dingy yellow; he seemed at a loss 
for words or breath, but only for a moment. 

“Why, it’s Captain Hull,” said he. Then turning 
swiftly to Tillman: “I’ll see you to-night,” he said, 
“at the place — you know. I want to have a word 
with my friend, Captain Hull; haven’t seen him for 
years.” He gave Tillman a wink, as if to imply that 
there was more in all this than he could explain at 
the moment, then, turning, he walked off with the 
Captain, leaving Tillman and Houghton to go their 
way wondering at this new development and some- 
what disturbed in mind. 

Hull said nothing for twenty yards or so. He 
was chuckling to himself as if over some joke he had 
just heard. Then he said : 

“Who were them guys?” 

“Oh, two men I picked up,” said Macquart. 


60 THE GOLD TRAIL 

“Sydney chaps What are you doing here?” 

“Sydney chaps were they,” said Hull, seeming 
deaf to the question. “Mugs for sure, unfort’nate 
mugs.” 

He slapped his thigh as he walked, seeming to 
commune with himself still over some joke; his last 
words were scarcely complimentary to Macquart, 
but that gentleman did not show umbrage. Mac- 
quart was not indeed in the position to take umbrage 
at anything Captain Hull might choose to say to 
him. He looked now, as he walked along with his 
companion, like a predatory bird subdued and led by 
its captor. 

Captain Hull, after a few moments more of in- 
ternal communion, suddenly broke silence. All at 
once he began speaking as though he and Macquart 
had only just met. Up to this, he had been gloating 
over his prey, now, of a sudden, he struck. 

“Well,” said he, “this is a surprise. It is so; and 
to think it’s fower year and more since we parted. 
Fower year and more since you left me blind with 
the drink in that pub at San Lorenzo and bolted with 
me money.” 

“That I did not,” said Macquart. “It was an ac- 
cident. I was as drunk as you. I was nailed by a 
crimp.” 

“Oh, you was nailed by a crimp, was you,” said 
"Hull, as though quite open to be convinced; “pore 
chap, and was you shanghaied, maybe?” 

“I was.” 

“And yet four days later you was cutting the cards 
at Black Sam’s on the Barbary Coast and gaoled for 


CAPTAIN HULL 


6 1 


assault an’ drink same night, payin’ your fine next 
morning with the money you choused me of. How 
do you make that out?” 

“It’s not true,” said Macquart. “I don’t know 
who stuffed you up with those lies. It’s not true — 
that’s all I can say, and I leave it there.” 

“And are you still on the old treasure liftin’ job,” 
asked Captain Hull tenderly, and quite ignoring the 
denials of the other, “or was that a lie as well as the 
others you spun me?” 

“That was no lie,” cried Macquart, flushing under 
torture for the last five minutes ; without a rag of his 
new-found self-respect and self-satisfaction left he 
caught at the one bit of truth, as a naked man might 
catch at a cloth to cover himself with. “That was 
no lie; the treasure was there, it’s there now and only 
waits lifting.” 

“I believe you ain’t wrong,” said Captain Hull. 
“I’ve always took notice that the biggest liars haven’t 
no mem’ries but gives different change every time 
they spins the same yarn; but you always stuck con- 
sistent to that yarn of yours, and so it was maybe I 
put up my two hundred dollars on a half-share 

lay Come in here.” He stopped at the door of 

a restaurant. 

“What do you want going in there for?” asked 
Macquart. 

“I’ll soon show you — you follow me, for you’ve 
got to pay.” 

He entered and took a seat at a table near the 
door, Macquart sitting down also. 

“Have you any money?” asked Macquart. 


62 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


“Money?” replied Captain Hull, taking up the 
menu. “What’s that — is it a herb? Money — let’s 
see. Oh, ay, money, I remember now, round stuff it 
was, made o’ metal, if I remember right. No, I ain’t 
got no money, and ain’t had none since I can remem- 
ber. Fower years ago I saw the last of my money — 
you boned it. Waiter, kim here.” 

The waiter approached, and with a huge fore- 
finger, Hull indicated his desires upon the menu. 

“A porterhouse steak, two kidneys and bacon to 
foller, scrambled eggs, toast and coffee, and look 
sharp — for two, yes, make it for two and this gen- 
tleman pays.” 

Macquart seemed resigned. He said nothing 
whilst the food was being brought, then, when it was 
on the table, he fell to on it as readily as the other. 
During the meal, the two men were entirely amicable, 
like two jackals that had discovered a carcase, they 
fell to, and all disputes were put aside till the meal 
was done with. 

Nearly a sovereign’s worth of food having been 
destroyed, Macquart paid, and the pair left the cafe 
and took their way towards Market Street. Captain 
Hull, well fed now, was slightly more amicable in 
his manner towards Macquart. He had a long, long 
score to wipe off against Macquart; those few words 
he had uttered about the San Lorenzo business gave 
some indication of the length of this score, but only 
some, and he had the means at his disposal if he chose 
to use them for its full wiping out. In other words, 
if he chose to talk even here in Sydney, he could place 
the hand of the Law on the shoulder of Macquart 


CAPTAIN HULL 


63 

Captain Hull had pretty keen instincts. He had 
met Macquart when the latter was walking with two 
“Sydney chaps,” Macquart had exhibited ready 
money in the cafe, Macquart was evidently on some 
job here in Sydney, and Hull determined in his own 
mind to stick to Macquart like a leech. 

He scented money. 

Hull, to describe him more fully, was a big, blonde, 
blue-eyed man, much battered by the sea and the 
world and himself. Children liked him. There 
were terrible things in his life, he had fought and 
drunk and rogued and ranged through all the paral- 
lels of latitude and all the years of his discretion; 
not a shipowner from ’Frisco to London docks would 
have employed him, unless on a sinking job, and that 
sort of thing isn’t done now, much. He had been 
kicked out of New Ireland, he had smelt Norfolk 
Island, he had a bad name in Callao — yet, somehow, 
children liked him. But he was a hard case all the 
same, with one redeeming virtue, however, only to 
be expressed in his own language — he had never 
gone back on a pal. 

The streets were crowded, and as they walked 
along, Captain Hull looked into the shop windows, 
examining the goods displayed therein and making 
remarks upon them to his companion. The two men 
might have been the best companions taking a morn- 
ing stroll through the city, but it might have been 
noticed that the conversation was mostly on the part 
of Captain Hull. That gentleman having inspected 
ladies’ petticoats, jewellery, and the contents of a 
hardware shop, paused before a tobacconist’s and, 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


64 

seized with the desire to smoke, entered, bought two 
cigars, keeping his eye on Macquart all the time 
through the fascia, paid for them, lit one, and came 
out again to find Macquart gone. 

The thing seemed impossible. He had never lost 
sight of the elusive one, or only for the momentary 
time required to pick up his change and light his 
cigar; all the same, Macquart had vanished. Not a 
sign of him was to be seen in the crowded and bust- 
ling street. 

“Fitchered!” said the Captain. He stood looking 
to right and left. He could see quite a long way, 
and the crowd was not dense enough to prevent him 
from picking out Macquart’s figure had it been vis- 
ible, but Macquart had vanished just as the rabbit 
vanishes when the conjuror places it under the tall 
silk hat, and just as surprisingly. Captain Hull 
might have asked himself whether the whole busi- 
ness was not an illusion, only for the fact that he was 
a man ungiven to self questioning. 

“Well, of all the swine,” said he, recovering 

his breath and his swearing capacity at the same time. 
“Give me the slip, has he? Turned hisself inside out 
whiles I was lightin’ a see-gar? Blest if it ain’t San 
Lorenzo over again, and if he ain’t sold me the same 

old dog, b him. Well, we’ll see.” He walked 

along in the direction of the Paris House, passed it, 
and entered a bar. 

Here he stood with his elbow on the counter and 
a whiskey before him, thinking things over. 

Losing Macquart was like losing his purse. The 
Captain was very hard up indeed, broke to the world 


CAPTAIN HULL 


65 

— to use his own expression — and Macquart seemed 
flush; but the money part of the question bulked 
small in his eyes beside the fact that he had been 
done. And now, as he stood thinking things over 
and feeling his defeat and weighing it, a new idea 
came to him. Macquart was on some paying job; 
the fact that he had money and the fact that he was 
so anxious to get rid of him — Hull — pointed in the 
same direction. 

He had lost not only the few pounds he might 
have squeezed out of Macquart, but the chance of 
standing in over some shady job. 

This thought so infuriated him that he finished 
off his whiskey at a gulp and started off for pastures 
new. He wandered into Lamperts’, and the first 
person he saw there was Tillman, who was standing 
at the bar with Houghton and talking to several 
jovial-looking strangers. 

Tillman was in high feather. Somehow or an- 
other, news that he was leaving Sydney on a ven- 
ture had leaked out, probably from his own lips. 
Before taking Houghton and Macquart to Curlewis, 
he had talked of something mysterious that he had 
up his sleeve, something in which the profits would 
be enormous — if it panned out. You can fancy him 
with his straw hat on the back of his head and a 
cigarette between his fingers telling one of the boys 
of what he was going to do. “Never you mind where 
— a new place and a new thing and fids of money 
in it, bags of coin ” 

Curlewis had also been talking. 

“Well, I must be off,” Tillman was saying. 


66 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


“Can’t waste any more time on you, Billy. I’ve busi- 
ness to attend to.” He took Houghton’s arm and 
led him off. Neither of them noticed Hull, whom 
they would certainly have recognised as the man 
who had taken Macquart off that morning, and the 
swing door had scarcely closed on them when criti- 
cism broke out at the counter. 

“God help the business that Bobby is attending 
to,” said Billy, a bibulous-looking youth in check 
tweed and with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. 
“I reckon I know it, too. They’ve got a new bar- 
maid at the Paris House.” 

“No, it aren’t that,” said a gentleman, with a 
face like a horse and a diamond horse-shoe in his 
cravat. “Bobby’s on some sure enough lay; he’s 
been tryin’ to get Curlewis into it. I heard a chap 
sayin’ Cur had told him all about it, a gold-mine 
hid somewhere up north. Bobby has been goin’ 
about the last few days with a crazy-lookin’ guy 
that’s got the location of the mine, a chap with the 
hair growin’ through his hat an’ his ten toes stickin’ 
through his boots.” 

“I’ve seen him,” said Billy. “They were in here 
drinking yesterday morning; they had an English 
chap with them and they went off in a hurry; they 
all came back here towards lunch and they were 
talking here, same as I am to you, when that injia- 
rubber image Screed, Cur’s partner, came in through 
the door and had a clack with Bobby and went out 
again.” 

“I don’t believe Cur will plank any coin on pros- 


CAPTAIN HULL 67 

pectin’,” said the gentleman of the horse-shoe; “wool 
brokin’ is all the gold mine he wants.” 

Captain Hull, who had obtained a whiskey, stood 
with it in his hand waiting to hear more, but the 
conversation turned away from Tillman to horses, 
and, finishing his drink, the Captain went to the 
telephone-box in the corner, took the directory, and 
turned its pages laboriously till he found what he 
wanted. Then with the address of Curlewis and 
Screed in his mind, he started off. 

Certain that the crazy-looking guy referred to by 
the horsy man was Macquart, he was now more con- 
vinced than ever that something was up, and quite 
determined to be in it or to spoil everything. 

He reached Curlewis’ office, went upstairs, gave 
his name to the clerk and in a few minutes was 
admitted to the inner office and sanctum of the firm, 
where Curlewis was standing with his back to the 
stove, with his hands in his pockets, talking to 
Screed, who was seated at his desk. 

Hull, hat in hand, made a scrape, half turned 
to see that the door was shut and then spoke. 

“Which of you gentlemen is Mr. Curlewis?” said 
he. “I’ve somethin’ to say to Mr. Curlewis, and it 
won’t bear repeatin’ before any one else.” 

“My name is Curlewis,” replied the chief of the 
firm, “and you can say whatever you like here. This 
is Mr. Screed, my partner — sit down.” 

“Well, now,” said the Captain, taking the seat 
pointed out to him and placing his hat on the floor, 
“did you by any chance in the last day or two come 


68 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


across a guy by the name of Macquart? I’m not 
askin’ to be inquisitive. I have my meanin’.” 

“I take you,” replied Curlewis, “and I can give 
you an answer straight. I have during the last day 
or two come across a guy by the name of Mac- 
quart. What about him?” 

“Ah, there’s the rub,” said Hull. “I’m not askin’ 
to be inquisitive, but did this chap lay any proposal 
before you with regard to money or mines or such 
like?” 

“You may take it from me that he did,” said Cur- 
lewis; “a very big proposal — what more?” 

The Captain was silent for a moment. Then he 
said: 

“Well, that’s what I wanted to be at. I reckon 
you are goin’ in with him on some deal, and all I 
have to say is, where he goes, I goes.” 

“I don’t quite understand,” said Curlewis. 

“This way. If I don’t get half shares with Mac- 
quart, I’ll blow the gaff on him and bust up the 
business.” 

Screed, who was writing, or pretending to write, 
moved uneasily. Curlewis smiled. 

“Well, my dear sir,” said he, “go and blow the 
gaff on this person as much as you please, it is no 
affair of mine. I have nothing to do with him. I 
refused his plan to hunt for gold in New Guinea 
and there’s an end of it.” 

“New Guinea,” said Hull. “So he’s on the old 
lay. I ought to ’a’ guessed it; swab! Well, I’m 
sorry to have taken up your time, but might I ask 


CAPTAIN HULL 69 

you where he’s livin’ now, or where I might find 
him?” 

“I should think most probably, if you wait long 
enough, you might find him in gaol,” said Curlewis. 
“No, I cannot tell you where he lives; the gentle- 
man did not leave his visiting card behind him.” 

The Captain picked his hat up from the floor, rose 
from his chair and hung in irons for a moment; 
Screed at the same time rose in a leisurely fashion, 
put on his hat, and collected some letters as if for 
the purpose of taking them to the post. 

“Well, good-day to you, gentlemen,” said Hull at 
last. “I’ve lost my time and yours, and there’s 
no more to be said; but let me once lay my hands 
on that gink, and, Lord ! won’t I treat him lovely.” 

He went out, and, disregarding the lift, thundered 
down the stairs. 

In the street, he took off his hat and wiped his 
brow with his coat sleeve. 

It was a comfort to think that Macquart had 
failed to rope in Curlewis, but it was rather a cold 
comfort, considering the fact that the Captain was 
at his last half-crown. He walked away down the 
street, revolving this latter fact in his mind. 

The fo’c’sle stared him in the face. To the after- 
guard users of the sea, the fo’c’sle is the last resort, 
the last threat of Fate. Hull, a once Master-mariner 
of decent repute, had been driven into the fo’c’sle 
time and again these later years, and now the pros- 
pect was opening before him once more. At the 
corner of the street, he was standing with his hands 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


70 

in his pockets cursing his luck and Macquart alter- 
nately, when some one spoke to him. 

It was Screed. 

“Captain Hull,” said Screed, “a word with you.” 

“Good Lord!” said Hull, recognising the other, 
“why, it’s Mr. ” 

“Screed, yes, that’s my name. I want to speak 
to you for a minute ; walk with me down the street 
and we can talk as we go. I may be of use to you. 
Now, see here, what’s all this about that man Mac- 
quart? — What do you know about him?” 

“What do I know about him,” burst out the Cap- 
tain. “I know this, he’s the biggest blackguard that 
ever walked on two feet.” 

“I know that,” said Screed, “or, at least, that he 
is a very considerable scamp; what I’m getting at is 
this: he came to a friend of mine with a proposi- 
tion about buried treasure in New Guinea — now, 
clear your mind of all prejudice — do you know any- 
thing against that proposition? I mean, is it wildcat 
or genuine?” 

The Captain was silent for a moment. Then he 
said: “It’s right enough. I b’lieve the stuff’s there 
and the fellow’s been tryin’ after it for years, but 
he’s such an onnatural bad ’un, he’s never been able 
to pull the thing off. He had me on to it; we all 
but got a chap in ’Frisco to put up the coin for an 
expedition, then he ran crooked with a friend of 
the chaps — ran crooked over a ten-cent business — 
and the deal was off. He finished up by boning all 
my coin and leavin’ me drunk in a pub in San Lo- 
renzo fower years ago. Now, I ain’t much, but 


CAPTAIN HULL 


I’m straight over a deal and I’ve run guns and smug- 
gled and done many another job off the O. K., but 
I ain’t an out and outer. No, I ain’t an out and 
outer. Mac is, an’ that’s why I want to get hold 
on him. I wants to punch that chap’s head, I’m 
sufferin’ to punch that chap’s head — I’m ” 

“Don’t talk of punching heads,” said Screed. 
“That’s not business and you are wasting time. Mac- 
quart has got his expedition together through a 
friend of mine, and he is starting with two other men 
to pull this gold; the only doubt I have is that he 
seems such an extraordinary villain, he may by some 
chance ” 

“I get you,” cut in the Captain. “Be some chance, 
he’ll do these two guys in. He will so.” 

“They are g$»d men,” went on Screed, “and I 
have warned them to be on the look-out, and I will 
warn them again, but one must take all precautions, 
and that’s where you come in. You are older than 
they are, and you have a more intimate knowledge 
of this man. Now, Captain, I have here a job for 
you. Take yourself out of Sydney to-day so that 
there may be no chance of your meeting Macquart, 
and call upon me to-morrow morning at eight o’clock. 
Here’s my card with my address.” 

The Captain took the card between an immense 
finger and thumb. 

“I’ll come,” said he, “but I’ll let you know pretty 
plainly, I’m bust, broke to the world; half-a-crown is 
all I have, and God knows where I’m to get the next 
happenny.” 

“Here’s a sovereign,” said Screed, “and go slow 


72 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


with it. Don’t get on the liquor, whatever you do, 
for that would spoil all, and Sydney is full of temp- 
tation. Get out somewhere on the harbour side, 
have as much food as you want, but no drink — and, 
above all, don’t talk. Don’t mention this affair and 
don’t mention my name. If you do, I’ll call off and 
you may whistle for Macquart. See here, Captain, 
you may pull out of this a rich man. Remember 
that, and don’t spoil the chance of your life. I’m 
reckoned a lucky man, and any business I take up 
goes through. Nine hundred and ninety-nine men 
out of a thousand would not go on with this affair, 
knowing what I know about Macquart. Well, it 
does not put me off. I don’t care a dump for a man’s 
character, so long as his scheme is good and so long 
as I know his character and can take precautions 
against it.” 

“I reckon you’ll have to take a pocketful of pre- 
cautions if you’re dealing with Macquart,” said 
Hull. 

“I have come to that conclusion,” replied Screed. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE OUTFITTING 

TpILLMAN and Houghton, little knowing of the 
Hull incident, and Macquart little knowing of 
Screed’s interview with Hull, the work of storing 
the Barracuda and getting her ready for sea went on 
apace. 

One thing Tillman noticed. Macquart took up his 
residence on the yawl and would not leave her. 
Once, when Tillman wanted a messenger to go up- 
town after some fittings that had not arrived, he 
asked Macquart to go, and Macquart refused, alleg- 
ing a sore foot. 

Macquart slept on board and did his own cook- 
ing. Held by the deadly fear of Hull, he scarcely 
shewed himself on deck, and when a boat put oft 
from shore he inspected her through one of the ports 
before coming up to receive her. 

“I can’t make out what’s up with Macquart,” 
said Tillman to Houghton. “Looks to me as if he 
was keeping hid from something.” 

“He’s a rum customer,” replied Houghton. “I 
expect, maybe, he owes money ashore; anyhow, it’s 
none of our business.” 

They had indeed plenty of business to attend to 
without troubling about Macquart. Though the 
73 


74 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


Barracuda was reckoned ready for sea, there were 
all sorts of matters to be put right and adjusted, 
all sorts of things to be thought of, considering the 
fact that the expedition might last six months or 
more. Caulking tools and material, for instance, 
had not been supplied or thought of, and they were 
faced with the difficulty that Screed was no sailor 
and therefore they had to overhaul everything for 
themselves. Screed, moreover, though he had men- 
tioned the fact that he was putting up a thousand 
pounds, had a terrible eye towards expense, and they 
had to submit every item to him and often fight to 
obtain what they wanted. 

“I’m blest if I’d have undertaken the job if I’d 
known Screed was such a crab over halfpence,” said 
Tillman one day in disgust. “I’ve been fighting him 
over the provisions. I want victuals for nine months, 
and he has only made out for six. I told him plain 
it wouldn’t do ; he seemed to think we could victual 
up there on the Guinea Coast; he doesn’t care if we 
go short — well, I knocked him on that. I told him 
we couldn’t get anything up there but heche de mer 
and cocoanuts; of course, I was talking through my 
hat. I don’t know but that we mayn’t strike a co- 
operative store, though it’s not likely; anyhow, he 
gave in. Then there’s guns. Three Winchesters 
and three Colts automatics was my ultimatum, with 
two hundred rounds apiece. Lord! how he squealed! 
but I got ’em.” 

“He talked a lot about that thousand pounds,” 
said Houghton. “I don’t believe this set out will 
cost him more than three hundred. The Barracuda 


THE OUTFITTING 


75 

isn’t lost money, he can sell her when we come 
back.” 

“You mean if we come back,” said Tillman. “We 
are taking an awful big risk, and don’t you make 
any mistake about that.” 

“I’m not afraid of the risk.” 

“Afraid of it! Why, the risk is all the pleasure 
of the business. I tell you, I’m sick of living here 
in Sydney and knowing every day what’s coming 
next. I want to get out and live.” 

“I’m the same,” said Houghton. 

The collapsible boat, on full inspection, proved 
rotten in parts of its canvas. Screed suggested 
patching, but Tillman stood out either for a dingy 
or a new collapsible. He carried his point; also 
the spare mainsail, if tried, would have blown to 
tatters in any squall; canvas, especially in the trop- 
ics, has only a certain length of life even if little 
used — this point was put right. A patent sea anchor 
was the last infliction put upon Screed by Tillman, 
and Screed bore it, though badly. Screed had this 
peculiarity, though he fought over halfpence and 
about little things, he was lavish when what he 
considered to be the essentials were at stake. Thus, 
whilst he groaned and moaned over a few square 
yards of extra canvas, the charts, compass, sextants 
— there was a spare one — and chronometer were of 
the best. 

The outfitting of the expedition took a fortnight 
instead of a week, and on the evening before the 
day of starting, Tillman, having given a last look 
round to see that everything was good, took his seat 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


76 

on deck beside Houghton and Macquart, who were 
seated by the saloon hatch. 

“Well, that’s done with,” said Tillman. “Every- 
thing is a-board, even to the tobacco; twenty-five 
pounds of Navy plug ought to last us, and I made 
the outfitters throw in five boxes of Borneo cigars 
by way of langnyappe. There’s no drink — only six 
bottles of whiskey by way of medicine, and a bottle 
of chlorodyne.” 

Said Houghton : “You’ve forgot one thing. Sup- 
pose we have accidents?” 

“Well,” said Tillman, “what then?” 

“Where’s your surgical instruments and things?” 

Tillman sniffed. “Much good they would be 
without a surgeon. We haven’t got to have acci- 
dents. We can’t afford luxuries of that sort. What 
do you think you’re going on — a yachting cruise?” 

“I know something of bone setting,” said Mac- 
quart, “and I can stop bleeding from an artery — 
used to be able to do so.” 

As he spoke, a dusky form emerged from the 
fo’c’sle hatch, stood erect, and then going to the side 
leaned over the rail looking shoreward. 

It was Jacky, the black fellow secured by Screed 
to act as cook and deck-hand. Jacky was used 
to the sea, he could steer and was a first-rate boat 
hand. Two natives had been in the original pro- 
gramme, but on second thoughts Screed had declared 
for only one, and wisely; in an expedition of this 
sort the native element is always best reduced to 
a minimum. Natives can’t think much unless they 
can talk together. 


THE OUTFITTING 


77 


Tillman, having seen the anchor light swung, 
smoked another pipe, then the three adventurers 
went below and turned in, unconscious of the sur- 
prise that Screed was about to spring upon them 
in the morning. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE “BARRACUDA” SAILS 

T ILLMAN was on deck just before sunrise, and 
as the sun broke over the hills Macquart and 
Houghton appeared, rubbing the sleep from their 
eyes and yawning. Jacky was skipping about in 
and out of the caboose getting breakfast ready, 
and the sounds and smell of bacon being fried filled 
the air. 

It was a lovely morning, the white gulls were 
fishing on the ruffled blue water of the harbour and 
a warm, steady land wind was blowing favourable 
for the Heads. 

Jacky, leaving the cooking for a moment in abey- 
ance, skipped below to lay the table in the cabin, 
whilst the others hung on deck talking and leaning 
on the rail with an eye shoreward for the boat that 
would bring off Screed and the pilot. 

“I’m blest if that nigger doesn’t remind me of a 
bounding kangaroo,” said Tillman, “and he seems 
to have a dozen pair of hands; look at him cooking 
the breakfast and laying the table at the same time, 
and he was more use getting the stores on board 
than half a dozen thumb-fisted stewards would have 
been.” 


78 


THE “BARRACUDA” SAILS 


79 


“Look,” said Houghton. “Here’s the boat.” 

A white painted boat was putting off, two men at 
the oars and two men in the stern sheets. 

“It’s not the pilot boat,” said Tillman. “It’s 
Screed; but who is the chap beside him?” 

Macquart was standing with his hand shading his 
eyes watching the approaching boat, then he turned 
and went below. 

As the boat came alongside, Tillman threw the 
ladder down and Screed came on deck followed by 
his companion; it was Captain Hull. 

“So you are all ready to start,” said Screed. 
“Well, I have brought you a new man, a friend of 
mine, Captain Hull. He is also an old friend of 
Macquart’s. He is going with you as supercargo. 
He understands all about the business, and as you 
are a bit short-handed, you will find him useful — 
but where’s Macquart?” 

“He’s below,” said Tillman, taken aback at this 
new move ; “but this, I must say, is a surprise — A 
word with you.” 

He led Screed forward. 

“What on earth have you brought that chap for?” 
said he. “I remember him; he met Macquart one 
morning in the street and they went off to- 
gether. What’s the meaning of it? How do we 
stand?” 

“You stand just this way,” said Screed. “Mac- 
quart is one of the biggest blackguards on God’s 
earth. I didn’t know all about him till recently. 
Hull is the antidote to him. Please trust me in this 
matter, for my interests are yours. Macquart would 


8o 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


have done you and Houghton in like the babes in 
the wood if you had gone alone with him. Hull 
is the iron grip I will keep on him. Hull has been 
let down by him. Hull knows enough to hand Mac- 
quart over to the police, and he’s strong enough 
to hold Macquart down, and he’s straight enough 
to suit me; he’s a spirit level compared to Mac- 
quart.” 

“My God!” said Tillman. “What a ship’s com- 
pany packed away in this ten-cent boat.” 

“Oh, you’ll get on all right, but you must never 
forget there’s a live bomb-shell aboard, and that is 
Macquart. Put your trust in Hull and back him if 
there’s trouble. I have told him I would tell you 
everything and warn you. Don’t ever lose your tem- 
per on this job, don’t get heated up with the idea 
that Macquart is a rogue and worse — of course he 
is. A half million of hidden money means roguery 
somewhere. Macquart most likely did John Lant 
in years ago. I’m pretty sure he did, but we mustn’t 
trouble about that; what we want is to lay hands 
on the money. Now come aft; Macquart is down be- 
low, you say; hiding from Hull, most likely. I’m 
going to confront them.” 

He led the way aft, and then he went down to 
the little cabin, followed by Tillman, Houghton and 
Hull. Macquart was seated at the table. He had 
started breakfast on some bread and a tin of sar- 
dines. Dumbfounded at the appearance of Hull 
coming off with Screed, he fancied that the whole 
expedition was blown upon, and he was filling up 
before receiving his marching orders. 


THE “BARRACUDA” SAILS 81 

But Screed, when he entered the cabin, appeared 
quite unconcerned, in fact he was smiling. 

“I’ve brought a friend of yours on board,” said 
he, “Captain Hull; he has asked to join this expe- 
dition and I have let him. He is sailing with you 
as supercargo — this is him.” 

Hull, entering the cabin last, stood for a mo- 
ment gazing on Macquart, who was now standing 
up, a smile gradually beaming across his broad face. 
One might have fancied Macquart to have been 
his long lost brother. 

“Why, it’s me dear friend Joe,” said Captain 
Hull, “or do me eyes deceive me ! Why, Joe, you’ve 
grown fat since I lost y’ last, fat you’ve grown and 
bustin’ with prosperity you look — well, if this don’t 
beat all!” 

Macquart’s face shewed nothing of what was go- 
ing on inside of him. He held out his hand to 
Hull. 

“This is unexpected,” said he. “So you’re going 
with us? Well, that’s to the good; a capable navi- 
gator is always useful, even if we are a bit crowded.” 

He sat down and helped himself to another sar- 
dine, and in that moment Screed seemed to glimpse 
the full formidableness of this man who had sud- 
denly received such a knock-out blow in such a 
manner. 

Jacky had followed them down with a huge dish 
of friend bacon and eggs, and the whole crowd now 
took their places at the table, a terrible squeeze, 
whilst Jacky, skipping on deck again, fetched the 
coffee. Houghton was the only one at that break- 


32 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


fast party who did not understand the new develop- 
ment. It astonished him that Screed should have 
sprung this stranger upon them at the last moment; 
he remembered vaguely Hull’s face, which he had 
glimpsed that morning more than a fortnight ago, 
but he said nothing. It was some move of Screed’s, 
and if Tillman was satisfied it was not for him to 
complain. 

“Well, gentlemen,” said Screed, as the meal drew 
towards an end, “we’ll soon have the pilot on board 
now and the wind is favourable. One last word to 
you. This expedition means a lot to us all. Cap- 
tain Hull here knows what we are after, and his 
share will be arranged between him and Mr. Mac- 
quart without touching either your shares or mine; 
let there be no dissensions between any of you ; work 
for the common end, for only in that way will you 
pull the thing off to a profit. When you come back 
here with what you are going in search of you will 
find no worry, no difficulty in taking your profits. 
Once I have touched and told the stuff, I will give 
each of you a cheque for your amount. You may 
think my share in this business only consists in fit- 
ting out this vessel and starting you off. Far from 
that; my real help comes in when you are back with 
the stuff. Remember this, if you had the Barracuda 
up to the hatches in sovereigns, you would be poor 
men, simply because you could not convert your 
sovereigns into credit at a bank; to no port in the 
world could you take them with safety and without 
being sniffed over by money changers or customs — 
that’s all I have to say.” 


THE “BARRACUDA” SAILS 83 

He rose from the table ; he had narrowly watched 
Macquart’s face during this speech and fancied he 
had caught the faintest trace of a smile, the vaguest 
ghost of a hint at derision. He could not be sure, 
but the fancy made him more than ever satisfied 
that Hull was in this business. 

They came on deck just as the pilot came along- 
side in his petrol launch. Tillman, who had taken 
on the duties of skipper, knowing more about the 
management of small craft even than Hull, had ar- 
ranged the watches in a general conference on the 
day before, picking Jacky to act with him as port 
watch, and Houghton and Macquart for the star- 
board. The advent of Hull would not disturb this 
arrangement. Hull declared himself ready and will- 
ing to act as spare hand and to assist in any way 
that might be useful. 

“I ain’t particular,” said he. “I’ve all my life 
been used to masts and yards and a quarter deck 
a body can turn on. I’m free to admit this soap- 
dish is a new thing to me and this pocket handker- 
chief work with gaffs and booms is outside my line. 
If Mr. Tillman here has a better clutch on ’em than 
me, well, then, he’s my skipper; if he’s a bit dicky 
on the navigatin’, well, then, he can reckon on me 
to lend him a hand.” 

He meant it. Hull on board the Barracuda was 
as much out of his element as a trout in a child’s 
aquarium. He had been used to space; fore and 
aft rig confused him; though used to vast spaces 
of canvas, the mainsail of the Barracuda seemed to 
him vast in proportion to the hull, the swing of the 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


84 

main boom agitated him. He was obsessed, in fact, 
with the idea of the smallness of the craft, an obses- 
sion that would wear off in time. The pilot was a 
friend of Tillman’s, who supposed they were off to 
the islands, and he came not because he was wanted, 
but to give them a send-off. 

When he came on board, Screed shook hands all 
round and departed for shore. Then the anchor 
was hove short, Hull, Houghton and Jacky at the 
windlass, the jib and mainsail was set and the an- 
chor brought home. 

The live feel of the little craft when she was 
free of the mud sent a thrill through Tillman, who 
was at the wheel, the way she answered to her 
helm delighted him. Followed by the pilot boat, 
she passed cove after cove of the lovely harbour, 
gliding like a gull on the wind she opened the Heads, 
and, now, before them, like an enchantress holding 
the gifts of death or fortune, stretching towards 
them the lure of youth, lay the blue and boundless 
Pacific. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE ARGONAUTS 

/ T'HEY had dropped the pilot,, the Heads were 
passed and the white digit of Macquarie 
light-house lay behind them and on the port quarter. 

Tillman at the wheel was feeling more and more 
the fine qualities of the Barracuda as a sea boat, 
for out here the sea was fresh and strong, the tide 
coming up against the wind and foam caps break- 
ing across the hard shoreward green and meadows 
of distant azure. 

The old Greeks knew seas like this when they 
spoke of the sea as a country haunted by Proteus 
shepherding the flocks of ocean, and Ulysses might 
have steered the Argo through the same blue fresh 
water when he set out on the same old quest of 
treasure and adventure. 

If Tillman had ever heard of Ulysses and the 
Golden Fleece, he had, no doubt, forgotten them, 
nor would he have been in a humour to draw paral- 
lels even had he remembered that far-off adventure. 
Yet the Argo departing on her wonderful voyage 
was a sister ship of the Barracuda spreading her 
sails to the winds of the Pacific, freighted with 
dreamers, and bound on a business equally adven- 
turous — and almost equally fantastic. 

85 


86 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


Houghton was standing holding on to the weather 
rail and talking to Hull. Macquart had taken his 
seat plump on deck by the galley and was engaged 
with a needle and thread on a rent in his coat, which 
he had taken off. Jacky, the native, was in and 
out of the tiny fo’c’sle putting things in order, and 
as Tillman looked at his companions, at the bound- 
less sea and the receding Heads, for the first time 
the true inwardness of this business broke upon 
him and the true nature of the responsibility he had 
taken up so lightly. 

Bobby Tillman had been one of the Sydney Boys. 
Spending money, yacht and horse-racing, living too 
well and recovering from the effects, had been 
amongst his main occupations in life. An adven- 
ture to a New Guinea river for the purpose of re- 
covering half a million of gold there cached had 
seemed to him a gorgeous and light-hearted busi- 
ness. Out here, faced by the sea and his companions, 
the full knowledge of the fact that this was an 
undertaking of all undertakings, the most desperate 
and dangerous, was now coming to him, and with 
it the sense of his responsibility. 

Had the crew of the Barracuda consisted of re- 
ligious sailormen, and had the object of their quest 
been a cache of Bibles for distribution amongst the 
heathen, this voyage would not have been destitute 
of danger. But the quest was gold, and gold in 
its most dangerous form — abandoned treasure. 

Tillman was not thinking of this as he steered. 
He was reviewing his dubious companions, seeing 
them as though it were for the first time. Hough- 


THE ARGONAUTS 


87 

ton he knew and could trust, Macquart he guessed 
to be a scoundrel, both from Screed’s words about 
him and from the promptings of a vague instinct; 
and about Macquart the most disturbing fact was 
this peep of the devil through a fascinating person- 
ality. Hull was much more understandable. Hull, 
sprung on them at the last moment by Screed as 
a check upon Macquart, carried his certificate of 
character in his face, and it was not a first-class cer- 
tificate by any means. Still, instinctively Tillman felt 
Hull to be far more reliable than Macquart. 

Jacky, the black fellow, was an entirely unknown 
quantity. 

This, then, was the crowd small in number yet 
full of possibilities which Tillman had to deal with 
and hold together, and with which he had to face 
the sea, the weather, unknown natives and the pas- 
sions possibly to be roused through the nature of 
the quest and the natures of the seekers. 

Tillman never turned a hair. This irresponsi- 
ble and lighthearted optimist, this trifler with life, 
this haunter of race-courses and main prop of Lam- 
perts’ recognised all the difficulties and dangers of 
his position to the full, yet heeded them not. He 
felt himself standing on a sure rock and that rock 
was the fact that the Barracuda was proving her- 
self a splendid sea-boat. So he stood, twirling the 
wheel, till, Macquarie lighthouse wiped away by dis- 
tance, he called Jacky to the helm, gave him the 
course and joined Hull and Houghton at the lee 
rail; then the three sat down on deck by Macquart, 
who had finished his mending, and Tillman pro- 


88 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


ducing a rough chart of the East Australian sea- 
board began to lay down their course for the in- 
struction of the others. 

“Here we are/’ said he, “almost level with 
Broken Bay, twenty-eight hundred miles or more 
from Cape York and Torres Straits. We keep our 
present course till we strike Longitude 30° — that’s 
just level with the Solitary Islands. Then we strike 
more north, so, till we’re level with Great Sandy 
Island; keep on so till we hit Latitude 20°, avoiding 
the tail of the Great Barrier Reef and then strike 
bold nor’-nor’-west through the Coral Sea, and then 
nor’-west for the Straits. We are going outside the 
Barrier Reef, you see; all the steamer lines and most 
of the trading ships go inside the reef, but we’re 
going outside. I’ve talked it out with Screed. He 
wanted me to go inside and hug the coast, but I 
decided not; we’re in no hurry and I’ll take plenty 
of sea room. Level with Cape Grafton it’s pretty 
difficult water. There’s the Madelaine Cays, there’s 
Holnes Reef — we have to strike between those two.” 

“How long will it take us to hit the Straits?”, 
asked Houghton. 

“All of thirty days if we have good weather,” re- 
plied Tillman. “Maybe two months if we haven’t — 
you see we’ve got the current against us.” 

“Well, I’m not the man to complain if it took us 
a twelvemonth,” said Hull. “Good grub and plain- 
sailin’ is all I asks, s’long as I’m not divided from 
my friend, here, Mac. Mac and me is Si’mese pals 
— ain’t we, Mac?” 

Macquart grunted; he had taken a pipe and some 


THE ARGONAUTS 


89 

tobacco from his pocket and was busy cutting up 
twist. Tillman listened and wondered. He knew 
from Screed that Hull had a “down” on Macquart, 
that Macquart had played Hull false. He did not 
know the full extent of the division that existed be- 
tween the precious pair, all the same he did not 
like Hull’s bantering tone and tried to change the 
subject, but Hull persisted. 

“ We’ve sailed the seas together and always shared 
e^ual, haven’t we, Mac? And now we’re sailin’ 
and sharin’ again just as in old times.” 

“Just so,” said Macquart. 

“And we’ll be rich together when we’ve hit the 
stroke; why, Mac, we’ll be drivin’ in kerridges, you 
and me.” 

“That’s so,” said Macquart. “There’s enough 
for all. I’m only a plain man and want little in 
the way of worldly goods; there’s enough for the 
lot of us — when we get the stuff back safe and 
sound.” 

Houghton, who did not catch the undercurrent 
in this conversation, struck in. 

“Lord!” he said. “It will be splendid, if we pull 
it off. I never knew what money meant till I found 
myself without it, and I never believed, really, in 
this expedition till now we’ve started.” 

“We’ve got to pull it through,” said Tillman, 
“and it will take some pulling.” He rose to his 
feet and went aft, Houghton following him. 

Hull and Macquart found themselves alone for 
the first time, and Hull, who had just finished filling 


9 o 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


a pipe, lit it and took a few puffs. He was silent for 
a moment, then he spoke : 

“Mac,” said he, “who are them two guys you’ve 
let into this bizziness?” 

“Well, you ought to know,” replied Macquart, 
“seeing you’ve been up Screed’s sleeve for the last 
fortnight.” 

“That’s true,” said the Captain, “but it was 
precious black up that sleeve. He hid me away and 
fed me well, but not one word did he let out, only 
the promise to put me even with me dear friend 
Mac.” 

“Do you mean to say he didn’t tell you all about 
this expedition?” 

“He did,” said Hull; “told me enough to make 
me know it’s the same old lay you’ve been on for 
years. Why, Mac, it was the New Guinea gold 
you was singin’ about in ’Frisco fower years ago, 
that time you laid me out with a dope-drop and 
left me stranded at San Lorenzo, and it’s the New 
Guinea gold you’re after still. I know that much. 
What I want to know now is two things: first of 
all, who are them two guys and what are they worth 
on this job?” 

“Oh, they’re just Sydney chaps,” said Macquart. 
“Nothing much; Houghton hails from England, got 
stranded in Sydney, and I met him in the Domain. 
Tillman, he’s a first-rate hand at sailing a boat like 
this. Did you expect me to go on this job single- 
handed?” 

“Not by no manner of means, else I wouldn’t have 
come aboard to help you, Mac. Why, I hunted for 


THE ARGONAUTS 


9i 

you like a lost child after you give me the slip out- 
side the ’bacca shop. I wouldn’t have you go alone 
on this traverse, not on no account, you may be sure 
of that. Well, now, to come to the second point. 
What are you after?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean what I says. You’ve been always a- 
gettin’ up expedishins or tryin’ to get them up to 
go for this stuff; is it flap-doodle or is it real? Is 
the stuff there or is it bunkum?” 

“I give you my word of honour ” 

“I wouldn’t take your word of honour on no ac- 
count,” said the Captain. “I wouldn’t deprive you 
of it, Mac; answer me up, is it real? and if it ain’t, 
answer me up what you are after. If you plays me 
crooked, I gives you my word of honour I’ll twist 
your neck. There’s no police here, Mac, and no 
crowners jury.” 

“You may take it from me it’s the solid truth,” 
said Macquart. “The gold’s there and only waiting 
to be lifted.” As he spoke, he raised his head and 
expanded his nostrils, as though sniffing the treasure. 

A great gull passed in the blue sky above, its 
shadow swept the white deck and bellying mainsail 
of the Barracuda , and its voice came on the wind 
as it glided away to leeward. 

Houghton had gone below, Tillman was at the 
after-rail, leaning over smoking and contemplating 
the wash of the yawl. Jacky was at the wheel. 

“It’s there as sure as I’m here,” went on Mac- 
quart, “unless an earthquake has swallowed the 
river bank.” 


92 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


Once Macquart got on the subject of the treasure, 
he became almost a different man. There could be 
no doubt at all of his genuineness on that subject. 

“Or some one has been and scooped it,” put in 
Hull. 

“What d’you mean?” said Macquart. 

“I mean this way. I meets you fower years ago 
and you was talkin’ of this hive; I meets you to- 
day and you’re talkin’ of it still. How many people 
have you given the office to over this here busi- 
ness, that’s what I want to know?” 

“No one,” said Macquart, “not a soul. It’s God’s 
truth that since I saw you in ’Frisco four years ago 
till the other day, I have not hit one man who would 
have been of use to me. How could I? Going 
about the world in rags. Once or twice I had a 
chance to make some money and I did, but the luck 
turned against me. No, it’s the cold truth, since I 
seen you last I haven’t had a dog’s chance. Then 
I met Tillman, there, in a bar in Sydney, and I was 
so gravelled I told him the whole yarn over a drink ; 
he took it up hot, then I met Houghton, that other 
chap, in the Domain and introduced him to Till- 
man, and the result is we’re here.” 

“That’s so,” said Hull. “We’re here right 
enough.” 

Macquart looked at the other out of the corner 
of his eye. 

“The thing I can’t understand,” said he, “is how 
you are here. We’ll be better friends if we are 
straight with one another.” — Hull gave a short 
laugh at this. “And leaving friendship alone, you 


THE ARGONAUTS 


93 

have set my curiosity working — how the deuce did 
you pick up Screed?” 

“I’ll tell you,” said Hull. “When you played me 
that dog’s trick and slipped your cable outside that 
’baccy shop, I saw them two guys, Tillman and 
Houghton, in a bar. I remembered sightin’ them 
with you, and I listened to their talk. Then I put 
two and two together, and got my claws on Screed. 
Screed’s got no great opinion of you, Mac, spe- 
cially after the yarn I spun him of how you choused 
me in ’Frisco. Screed knows I know you and your 
dog tricks, and he’s put me a-board to see fair play 
between you and them two pore unfortunits. I’m 
your natural guardian, Mac, till we get the boodle 
safe to Sydney, and then I’ll be your pardner. 
You’ve got to give me half of your scoop. D’you 
understand that, Mac?” 

“When we get that stuff to Sydney, you can have 
half my share,” said Macquart. “There’s no use 
in my pretending that I’m satisfied you have a right 
to it, but there it is; you have got the bulge on me 
and there’s no use kicking.” 

“Not a bit,” said Hull; “and I’m agreeable to 
be friendly through the voyage and home again, but 
don’t you never imagine I’m asleep. Snorin’ on my 
back, I’ll still have one eye open on you, Mac, and 
both fists ready to scrag you if you play any of your 
monkey tricks.” 

He rose up and went aft to take his trick at the 
wheel, leaving Macquart still seated on the deck 
and revolving, no doubt, the situation in his mind. 


CHAPTER IX 


A VISION OF THE DEEP 

T HEY passed the latitude of Point Danger with 
the land a hundred and thirty miles to port, 
drawing closer ashore till they reached 25 °, with 
Great Sandy Island shewing away across the blue 
and sparkling sea. 

Never were adventurers more blessed by weather; 
days of azure and nights of stars brought them 
steadily north with a warm, favourable wind that 
made life a delight. The sails needed scarcely any 
handling, watches were kept anyhow, and Macquart, 
who had promised great things in the way of as- 
sistance in working and navigating the boat, “let 
go all holts,” to use the expression of Hull, and 
retired into himself, snoozing most of the day in 
his bunk below. 

Hull, on the contrary, having promised nothing 
and coming on board in fact as a supercargo, did 
much. He took his trick at the wheel, helped in 
the navigation and slowly and surely from the very 
first day rose in ascendancy. 

He was an older man than any on board, except 
Macquart; he was a very big man physically, and 
it would seem that he possessed some pinch of that 
iron stuff of the soul that makes for ascendancy. 
94 


A VISION OF THE DEEP 


95 


However that might be, the fact remains that by 
the time they had reached the Point Danger Lati- 
tude the crew of the Barracuda had shaken them- 
selves down just as a chemical mixture precipitates 
itself. Tillman, who had started as captain, had, 
without recognising the fact, all but given up his 
position to Hull. Jacky, the black fellow, owing 
to his practical knowledge of the sea, immense ac- 
tivity and quickness in the uptake, had come out 
of the galley, so to speak, and risen to a sphere 
of usefulness even above Houghton’s. Macquart, 
who ought to have been leader of the whole party, 
if not captain, had sunk to the bottom and it was 
the plain truth that here, faced with the actualities 
of the expedition, he appeared to have no more sway 
upon the fortunes of the business than any cock- 
roach crawling in the cabin. 

I say “appeared,” for Macquart was one of those 
men of whom it is impossible to speak definitely, 
one of those men who are never so potent or so 
dangerous as when they appear idle or innocuous. 

Things were like this when an event occurred 
that brought Hull even more to the forefront and 
consolidated his position. They had passed the 
latitude of the Cumberland Islands; the tail of the 
Great Barrier Reef lay by computation fifty miles 
to port and ahead all that tangle of reefs and 
cays stretching from the Madelaine Cays to Flinders 
Reef. The wind that had been holding fair and 
steady suddenly dropped and they awoke one morn- 
ing to find themselves drifting in a glacial calm. 

Tillman came on deck at six in his pyjamas and 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


96 

with a towel over his arm; he found that Jacky 
had left the wheel and was busy in the galley. The 
Barracuda with her beam to the swell was rolling 
slightly to the tune of creaking cordage and swing- 
ing boom, the air was still and breathless, and the 
great sun was blazing upon a world of water and 
sky, infinite and wonderful in its depths and shades 
of azure. 

The sea, like a great veil of sapphire-tinted 
satin, heaved in wide meadows of swell, there was 
not a ruffle on its surface and all to the east it 
blazed back the light of the sun like a mirror. 

“My word!” said Tillman. He stood for a mo- 
ment whistling and skimming the horizon with his 
eyes, then he undressed and began to tub, Jacky 
leaving the galley for the purpose of throwing 
buckets of water over him. 

As he dried, Houghton came on deck followed by 
Hull. 

“It’s a dead flat ca’m,” said Hull, standing with 
his hands clasping the bulwark rails and his gaze 
fixed across the sea, “and I’d sooner see a gale o’ 
wind — I would so — I’d sooner see a gale o’ wind.” 

“What are you croaking about?” said Tillman. 

Hull ruffled at this and for the first time on the 
voyage shewed irritation. 

“You’re a damn longshoreman,” said he. “If 
you ain’t alive to the meanin’ of a ca’m in these 
waters with the drift we’ve got, you’ll maybe liven 
up when we’re aground on some b — y reef. She’s 
been driftin’ half the night and this thing may last 
for days. We’re a long sight too close to that 


A VISION OF THE DEEP 


97 

there Barrier to please yours trooly — -that’s my 
meanin’.” 

Tillman, seeing the other’s frame of mind, went 
below to dress whilst Hull, cutting a chew of to- 
bacco, stood with his back to the bulwark rail, 
watching and criticising Houghton, who was now 
being swilled by Jacky. 

“I never can understand what you chaps find in 
that sort of thing,” said the Captain, who was un- 
given to superfluous washing. “If a chap was to 
swill water on me like that I’d kick him blind in- 
stead of payin’ him terbacca to do it same as you pay 
Jacky. It ain’t nach’ral.” 

“It bucks one up,” said Houghton. 

The Captain, having no answer to this, walked 
aft. Then, seeing Jacky coming from the galley 
with a steaming coffee-pot in his hand, he went be- 
low, Houghton followed him, and breakfast was 
served. Canned kippered herrings, fried bacon, 
and tomatoes formed the meal. Jacky had baked 
some rolls the night before and there was ship’s 
bread — which nobody touched. 

Hull’s bad temper vanished before the food. His 
appetite was enormous, and he was proud of it; 
Macquart, never a great eater, had come from his 
bunk unshaved and disreputable-looking and was 
seated before a cup of coffee. Tillman and Hough- 
ton, fresh from their tub and filled with the good 
spirits of youth, were talking and laughing, and 
Jacky, having served the food, had skipped on deck 
again on Hull’s order to keep a look-out for any- 
thing he might see. 


9 8 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


The Barracuda, rolling gently to the swell, kept 
up a continuous whine, cordage, blocks, spars and 
timbers all lending voice. 

“She don’t like hanging idle,” said Tillman, “but 
there’s no use in her grumbling. The glass is steady, 
for one thing.” 

“Ay, it’s steady enough,” said Hull. “I’d sooner 
see it dropping a bit, ca’ms like this get on my spine, 
for why I don’t know. It’s maybe becos I was laid 
up in one once in the old Monterey , a three master, 
she were, forty days out of London bound for Dur- 
ban. Head winds right to Bathurst and a dead flat 
ca’m on the line. There we lay and rotted two 
weeks, short o’ water, and seventeen dozen sharks 
pokin’ their noses round her starn.” 

At half-past eleven that day — three bells — Till- 
man, who was rigging up an awning with the help 
of a spare sail, had his attention drawn to Hull, who 
was standing shading his eyes with his hand and 
staring over the sea to port. 

Tillman left his work and looked. A quarter of 
a mile, or less, away, a strange oily patch was visible 
on the surface of the water and even as he gazed, 
suddenly, a little burst of foam broke the sea sur- 
face. 

He had no time to speak before Hull was on him. 

“We’re driftin’ on to shoals,” cried Hull. “Get 
the boat out for towin’, it’s our only chance.” He 
rushed to the cabin hatchway and called to the fel- 
lows below, then, turning, and helped by Jacky and 
Tillman, he began lowering the boat; when she was 


A VISION OF THE DEEP 


99 


water-borne and floating alongside he looked round. 

“Where’s Mac?” he cried. 

“He hasn’t come up yet,” replied Houghton. 

Hull turned, went to the cabin companion-way 
and dived below, a sound of shouting and strug- 
gling was heard and next moment Macquart, crim- 
son in the face and seeming half strangled, was 
literally shot upwards on deck as though blown by 
an explosion. 

Hull on going below had found Macquart lying 
in his bunk reading an old copy of the Bulletin. 
Ordered on deck and refusing the order, he had 
found himself suddenly seized, half-throttled, and 
thrust up the hatchway. 

All the animosity of Hull for this old time part- 
ner of his, all the hatred which he suppressed and 
kept under and glozed over with fair or jesting 
words had suddenly blazed out. Tillman, though 
he had little time to think, recognised this fact and 
took a momentary chill at the sight of the fury that 
had dwelt among them, hid away and sealed, sud- 
denly unbottled like this. 

Seizing Macquart by the scruff of his neck, Hull 
rushed him to the port bulwarks till the buttons of 
his coat clashed against the rail. 

“Over you get,” he cried. 

Next moment Macquart was in the boat, the tow 
rope was made fast and she forged ahead, Tillman, 
Jacky, Macquart and Houghton at the oars. 

Hull remained on board shouting directions and 
attending to the tow ropes. 

As Tillman rowed, some instinct prompted him 


IOO 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


to take a peep over the gunnel of the boat. In the 
brilliant water and seeming only a few yards be- 
neath the surface he saw rocks streeling fantastic 
and variegated weeds to the tide. 

Few things could be more disturbing than that 
sight here, far from land and seemingly in the 
midst of the deep, deep ocean. It had a touch of 
the uncanny, and the swell made it more terrifying 
still ; for the swell, though so widespaced as scarcely 
to be noticeable, had the lift and fall of a fathom, 
so that now the rocks would be clear-viewed and 
now more vague, and nothing is more soul-searching 
than that trick of the sea when it is played upon 
one in mid-ocean. But the work on hand gave lit- 
tle time for thought. Of all the labours of the sea, 
towing is the most heart-breaking when the tow is 
of any size and unless the towing boat is properly 
manned. They were unused to this special work; 
the idle life on board the Barracuda had put them 
out of training and the heat of the sun was ter- 
rific. 

Macquart suffered even more than the others, 
being older and having less use of his muscles. 

Tillman, who rowed stroke, kept his eye on Hull 
and took his orders, and the Barracuda, now with 
her head turned away from the threatened danger, 
was making slow progress almost due east. 

“There^s a baling tin somewhere in the bottom 
of the boat,” said Tillman, “fetch it up, one of you, 
and give us a sluice all round.” 

Houghton found it and did as he was told, and 
then the weary work went on. 


A VISION OF THE DEEP 


IOI 


After nearly an hour of it, dazed, beaten, with 
scarcely an ounce of energy left, they were suddenly 
brought to life and full consciousness by a hail 
from the Captain. 

A breeze was coming up from the southward. A 
huge violet fan of ruffled water was spreading 
towards the Barracuda, still prisoned in the dead, 
crystalline calm. 

They laid the boat alongside and scrambled on 
board just as the breeze touched the canvas and the 
main boom swung to starboard. Hull had unlashed 
the wheel and when they were on deck he ordered 
the boat to be streamed astern. 

“No time to waste pickin’ her up till we’re clear 
of this tangle,” he shouted. “Get to your places.” 

The mainsail had been set with two reefs in it 
for fear of a sudden squall, the reefs were shaken 
out, then foresail and flying jib were set and the 
Barracuda began to talk. Making six knots and 
with the dancing boat following her like a dog on 
a lead, she drew off steadily to the east nor’east, 
leaving the region of shoals and reefs behind her. 

Hull kept the lead going at intervals. Then when 
he considered all clear water ahead he brought the 
boat in and set a course to the northward. He had 
taken command of the Barracuda. Without a word 
to Tillman or the others, he had stepped into the 
position of chief man on board and leader of the 
expedition. 

When the boat was secured, Hull, who was now 
at the wheel, began to talk. 

“We’ve been near done for by lazing and bad 


102 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


seamanship,” said he. “That was a point of the 
Barrier Reef, which means to say we’re out of our 
course by scores of miles, and that’s your fault, 
Tillman. I should a’ took the sun myself and 
worked the reckonin’. No use in complainin’ now, 
we’ve got to make right and there’s no manner o’ 
use talkin’. Then, again, the watches are all up- 
side down, we’ve kep’ no proper look out, chaps 
have been lyin’ in their bunks that ought to a’ been 
on deck. That’s got to be set right. Now, then, 
you, whater you goin’ below for?” 

“I’m going to fetch my pipe,” said Macquart, 
who had his foot on the top step of the cabin com- 
panionway. 

“You stay here on deck till I’ve finished talkin’,” 
said Hull. “You’ve got to do your bit along with 
the rest of us and no skulkin’. Up with you and 
stand there by Jacky. I’m going to pick watches 
with Mr. Tillman.” 

Macquart obeyed. 

“I takes Mac,” said Hull. 

“And I take Houghton,” said Tillman. 

“Right you are,” said the Captain, “and Jacky 
can help as wanted. Now, then, Mr. Tillman, you 
can go below with the starboard watch, and you, 
Mac, can go down and fetch your pipe and don’t 
you be two minits huntin’ for it, or I’ll come after 
you and liven you.” 

As Macquart went below, Houghton caught the 
glance he shot at Hull and at the same time a 
glimpse of the enmity that lived between these two 
men. 


CHAPTER X 


TORRES STRAITS 

/ ’T A HEY passed Latitude 15 0 S. and entered the 
A Coral Sea, the weather growing warmer and 
the sea bluer day by day and the nights more tre- 
mendous with stars. 

To Houghton the farther they went the more 
did the world of the tropics open like some vast 
and mysterious azure flower. The steamer that 
brought him to New South Wales had shewn him 
little of the true mystery of this world of the sun, 
but here in the Barracuda so close to the sea, so 
dependent on the winds, so touched by the sun, life 
became a new thing and the world a wonderland. 

Nautilus fleets passed them and the foam flickers 
flung from the forefoot of the yawl looked like 
marble shavings on the lazulite of the sea. White 
gulls chased them and flittered like snowflakes 
against the burning azure of the sky, and ever and 
ever the warm, tepid wind from the south or east 
of south pursued them whilst the Barracuda snored 
to it, lifting her stern to the heave of the swell 
and filling the hull with the whispering and slap- 
ping of the bow wash. 

Black fish walloped along, sometimes, as though 
racing them, and gulls, fish, nautilus fleets and wind 
103 


104 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


all seemed bound and hurrying in the same direc- 
tion — the Line; the very sea that bore the Barra- 
cuda seemed racing towards the same goal, as 
though the world and all in it were pressing for- 
ward to some great carnival of colour and light. 

One evening they sighted Banks Island swimming 
in a pearly haze on the far horizon. 

Banks and Malgrave Islands stand out in Torres 
Strait from the point of Cape York like twins. 

“That’s Banks,” said Hull; “it’s not the first time 
I seen it. What you say, Mac?” 

“Well,” said Macquart, “if you are sure of it 
what’s the good of asking me — yes, it’s Banks 
Island right enough.” 

“Well, then, why can’t you say so like a Chris- 
tian?” flared out Hull. “Blest if you ain’t growin’ 
more like a m’hogany image every day.” 

“We’re nearly into the Straits,” cut in Tillman, 
who had been looking at the chart; “isn’t it a bit 
dangerous to hold on like this at night? How would 
it be to heave to off the coast till morning?” 

“Heave to?” said Hull. “Why, it’s a’most a full 
moon and she rises less than an hour after sundown; 
no, sir, we’ll ’old as we are and run the Straits with 
the help o’ the wind. I’ve no notion of hangin’ 
about waitin’ for another ca’m or maybe a gale to 
pile us on them rocks; glass is steady, but glass or 
no glass I’m goin’ to push on. I’m mighty anxious 
to raise that river.” 

Jacky was at the wheel. Houghton, belonging 
to Tillman’s watch, was below. They went down, 
and Hull, getting the charts on the table, laid them 


TORRES STRAITS 


105 

out. There was the big chart of the New Guinea 
coast and Torres Straits and the track chart shew- 
ing their course and Banks Island. 

Hull pondered over the big chart on which was 
marked the point of disemboguement of Macquart’s 
river. 

“When we pass Banks,” said he, “we’ll be a hun- 
dred and eighty or maybe two hundred miles from 
the river mouth; allowin’ for current and not 
wishin’ to pile her on the reefs, I take it we’ll be 
nosin’ into the mouth of that river day after to- 
morrer mornin’. If the wind holds. It’s just on 
the edge of Dutch Guinea. Y’see, up here, if the 
chart shewed it, would be the Fly River, that’s all 
British. Well, Mac, you’ll have some pilotin’ to 
do day after to-morrer mornin’.” 

Macquart’s eyes were singularly bright and he 
seemed to have shaken off the black dog that had 
been on his back for the last week or so. Maybe 
it was the near approach to the scene of his dreams 
or maybe it was some other cause, but cheerfulness 
had him in her keeping. 

Houghton, who had tumbled out of his bunk to 
help in the consultation, noticed the fact. 

“Yes,” said Macquart, “I seem to smell the place 
already, and I’m thinking you’ll have your work 
cut out too, towing her up unless the wind is dead 
astern.” 

“We’ll do our endeavours,” said the Captain. 
“And now whiles we’ve got the chance with a good 
offin’ and nuthin’ to trouble us, let’s lay our dispo- 
sitions. It’s fifteen years and more since you’ve 


IO 6 THE GOLD TRAIL 

been up that river, Mac — Oh, I know all that yarn 
of how you got the chart and location from a chap 
named Smith, but we’ll suppose you was one of 
Lant’s crew — we’re all gentlemen here together and 
there’s no use in hidin’ things up. I don’t want to 
get at none of your secrets, they wouldn’t be no 
use to me, but what I do want to know is this : How 
were them natives disposed that time you were here, 
were they a fightin’ lot of mugs ready to play their 
souls for coloured beads?” 

“The natives are all right,” said Macquart, “if 
they are treated right.” 

Houghton, who had heard Macquart’s story as 
told to Curlewis, felt aghast at Macquart’s cool ac- 
ceptance of Hull’s suggestion that Macquart had 
been one of Lant’s crew. If that were so, then it 
was almost certainly Macquart who had assisted 
Lant in the sinking of the T erschelling with her 
crew aboard, and who had, in turn, done away with 
Lant himself. 

“Well,” said Hull, “we must leave it at that. 
I’ve never more than snuffed the New Guinea coast, 
but whether they’re friendly or not we’ve got the 
arms and the bullets to down them with if they 
make trouble. Now we’ll go over them. Mr. Till- 
man, will you fetch out your rifles and small arms 
for an overhaul?” 

Tillman went to the locker where the arms were 
stored. 

He had arranged with Screed for the arming of 
himself, Houghton and Macquart. There were 


TORRES STRAITS 


107 

three Winchesters and three Savage automatic pis- 
tols with ammunition. 

He brought them to the table, and Hull having 
cleared away the charts, the weapons were placed 
on it for inspection. The ammunition was kept in 
another locker. Tillman fetched the cases of car- 
tridges and placed them by the rifles. 

Hull made a careful examination of the lot; then 
he said: 

“There’s a rifle and a pistol apiece for us three. 
Mac here is not a fighting man, his business is to 
nose out the stuff, our business is to stand by with 
the guns. Did you ever by any chance see chaps 
out shootin’ with a dog? The dog noses out where 
the birds is hid and the chaps with the guns stand 
by to fire. Well, Mac’s our dog — ain’t you, Mac?” 

Macquart made no reply for a moment, then he 
laughed : 

“You can put it like that,” said he. “Well, what 
more’s to be done?” 

The Captain loaded one of the automatic pistols 
and put it in his pocket with a packet of cartridges. 
Then he loaded the two others and gave one to 
Houghton and one to Tillman, also a packet of 
cartridges apiece. 

“Being nearly on the spot,” said he, “it’s time 
for us to get ourselves in trim — the rifles can go 
back in the locker and I’ll keep the key.” He placed 
the Winchesters and ammunition in the locker and 
pocketed the key. 

As they went on deck Houghton recognised that 
what had just taken place was not only the arming 


108 THE GOLD TRAIL 

of himself and his companions, but the disarming 
of Macquart. 

He took Tillman aside. The moon had just 
risen and was hanging like a great shield of bur- 
nished brass above the eastern sea line. Banks 
Island lay on the port quarter and before them 
Torres Straits lay spread in the mysterious light 
of the new risen moon and the waxing stars. 

“Tillman,” said Houghton, “did you hear what 
the Captain said to Macquart?” 

“I did,” said Tillman. 

“You remember Macquart’ s tale, how John Lant, 
the Captain of the Terschelling, took his ship up 
the river, cached the gold and then sank the ship 
with the crew in the fo’c’sle and how one of the 
crew, John Smith, had helped him?” 

“I do.” 

“How Lant married a native woman, Caya.” 

“Chaya,” corrected Tillman. 

“Yes, Chaya — and how Smith did away with 
Lant, and then had to escape without the gold be- 
cause Chaya suspected him.” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, Smith was Macquart.” 

“It looks like it.” 

“Macquart it was that helped in the sinking of 
the ship, it was Macquart who did away with John 
Lant. It’s as plain to me as that moon. My God, 
Tillman, if I had known I’d never have come on 
this expedition.” 

“There’s no use worrying now,” said Tillman. 
“We’re here and we have to go through with it even 


TORRES STRAITS 


109 

if we are bound to go hand-in-hand with a mur- 
derer.” 

“There’s more still,” said Houghton. “I see now 
why Macquart let fifteen years go by without re- 
turning to look for that gold.” 

“Why?” 

“Why? Can’t you see? Lant’s wife, that native 
woman, Chaya, was after him for his life when he 
escaped; he would not have dared to return till she 
was dead or had forgotten him. He told me a yarn 
— he told us all — that he had been years hunting 
about the world before he could get any one to 
join him in an expedition; that was bunkum. The 
plain truth is that he had not the courage to go 
back, he was afraid of this woman. I feel it by 
instinct that he is afraid even now. But fifteen 
years is a long time and he reckons that she is 
either dead or, if alive, that she will not recognise 
him.” 

“If she is alive, and if she recognises him, we’ll 
never leave that river with our heads on us,” said 
Tillman. 

“You have put it exactly,” replied Houghton. 
“But I’m not afraid of that. I don’t lay much 
store by life; what daunts me is Macquart.” 

“How?” 

“He makes my stomach crawl, he seems to me 
now the incarnation of everything evil. I hate to 
be on the same boat with him. He’s a nightmare.” 

“He’s not a bad imitation,” said Tillman. “And 
the funny thing is that up till a few weeks ago he 
was a pleasant enough fellow. He’s been slowly 


I IO 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


getting disagreeable, somehow, though he has done 
nothing and said nothing much; it’s as if there was 
something in the sea air or the life aboard that 
has made the badness in the blighter ooze out with- 
out his knowing it — then this business to-night puts 
a cap on everything.” 

“I’m afraid of him and that’s the truth,” said 
Houghton. “I’m not funking anything he may do 
to me or to us. I’m afraid of him just as a man 
is afraid of a ghost or a devil. I’ve often heard 
parsons talk of Evil and Wickedness and all that, 
but I’ve never felt the thing till now. Yes, he seemed 
all right at first; that morning I met him in the 
Domain he fascinated me same as a fairy tale might 
fascinate one — but now — ugh!” 

“Well, there’s no use in bothering about that,” re- 
plied the other. “If you’re out on the gold trail you 
can’t expect saints along with you, there’s nothing 
collects devils like gold. The thing for us to do now 
we are forewarned is to be forearmed. We have to 
keep a precious sharp eye on this chap, for I tell you 
it’s my humble opinion he’d do the lot of us in just 
for the pleasure of the business, leaving alone the 
profit. He hates Hull like all possessed, and Hull’s 
got the bulge on him. Did you notice how neatly 
the Captain has left him without a gun — Hull’s a 
peach.” 

“I tell you,” said Houghton earnestly, “that 
though I’m afraid of this chap, just because of 
what’s in him, the thing I’m really afraid of, as 
far as our success and safety go, is not Macquart 
but the woman — if she’s alive.” 


TORRES STRAITS 


in 


“Well, let’s hope she’s dead,” said Tillman. 

He shaded his eyes and looked ahead. Hough- 
ton, looking in the same direction, saw a smudge 
on the sea and in the midst of it a spark of light. 

“It’s a steamer,” said Tillman. 

He called Hull, who was standing by the wheel, 
to look. 

“She’s coming up fast,” said the Captain. “A 
lot too fast for a freighter; she’s the Hong Kong, 
Brisbane mail boat, most like; well, them that are 
fond of steam may use it, but give me masts and 
yards. Now there’s half-a-dozen chaps in brass 
bound hats aboard that hooker as ’d turn up their 
noses at the likes of you and me, but give ’em a 
head wind and half a sea and what are they on? 
a shower bath. Swep’ fore and aft they’d be. I’ve 
had one turn as foremast hand on a Western Ocean 
tank and I was swimmin’ most of the way to 
N’ York. Look at her.” 

She was passing a quarter of a mile away. A 
big white-painted boat, grey in the moonlight, 
crusted with lights and with the green starboard 
light staring full at the little Barracuda. 

A faint strain of music came across the water with 
the murmur of the engines. 

“They’ll be after their dinner,” said Hull, “with 
the ladies sitting on the deck and chaps in b’iled 
shirts smokin’ cigars over them. I’ve been deck 
hand on a Union boat for a voyage and I’ve seen 
’em and I’d sooner be greaser on a Western Ocean 
cattle truck than first officer on one of them she-male 
boats. There’s some sense in cattle.” 


1 1 2 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


Houghton watched whilst the big liner pounded 
away into the moonlight and star shimmer of the 
night. That glimpse of civilisation was inexpressi- 
bly strange seen here from the deck of the Barra- 
cuda , bound upon the wildest of adventures and 
surrounded by the wastes of the tropic sea. 


CHAPTER XI 


THEY SIGHT THE RIVER 

T HE Java Sea, the Banda Sea, and the Arafura 
Sea, all locked in by the Sunda Islands, North 
Australia, Borneo, the Celebes and New Guinea, 
form a lake almost bluer than the Caribbean, al- 
most as romantic. 

Never despise Trade. The Romance of Adven- 
ture is written on the tablets prepared by the trad- 
ers of the world, and in the go-downs of Macassar, 
the trading houses of Batavia and on the wharves 
of Malacca you will find more of the spirit of the 
Real Thing Worth Living For than in the wildest 
book of Adventures ever written, and no spot in the 
world more starred with high doings in the cut and 
thrust line than just here. 

Torres Straits is the highway between the Ara- 
fura Sea and the Pacific. In the old sandal-wood 
days and in the early times when the Dutch were 
greater in the east than they are now and the prahu 
of piratical Dayaks more active, Torres Straits was 
the scene of many a bloody fight, unrecorded, be- 
tween the merchant adventurers of Holland and the 
Islanders who did not care a button about money 
so long as they got heads. 

Through this wilderness of blue with the long, 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


114 

low line of the New Guinea coast on the horizon 
to starboard, the Barracuda was steering, Houghton 
at the wheel and Tillman beside him. 

It was nine o’clock in the morning, the wind was 
almost due south and they reckoned to strike the 
coast where the river disembogued before noon; 
nothing shewed but the coast-line and an oil tank 
almost hull down to windward and a gull flickering 
dark against the sea blaze astern. 

“Well,” said Tillman. “We’ve done it pretty 
near. To think of us three in the bar at Lamperts’ 
a few weeks ago talking of the thing, without the 
seeming ghost of a chance of pulling it through, and 
now to think of us here, nosing through Torres 
Straits without having lost a spar, right on the busi- 
ness like a hawk. I tell you, Houghton, if I wasn’t 
a modest man I’d be proud of myself.” 

“We’ve had good luck,” said the man at the 
wheel, “and Luck’s a jolly good thing to have with 
one if it wasn’t so changeable. We’re here, but we 
have all our work cut out before us.” 

Tillman whistled. 

“We have begun well,” went on Houghton, “but 
we have all the stuff on board for an explosion be- 
tween Macquart and Hull; even if we have the best 
of Luck and this woman is dead or doesn’t recog- 
nise Macquart there’s likely to be trouble between 
those two. They hate each other like poison. 
Hull’s a good chap, I think, though he might be 
better; anyhow, he’s a long, long chalk better than 
the other, but I can’t understand him. He doesn’t 
fight openly with Macquart, but he’s all the time 


THEY SIGHT THE RIVER 


ll 5 

jeering at him under the pretence of making fun 
and when he has a chance doesn’t he work him — 
we can’t afford that sort of thing on an expedition 
like this.” 

“Well, there’s no use in worrying,” said Tillman. 
“All we’ve got to do is to keep our eye on the mo- 
ment and do our best. You’re letting her off the 
course.” 

Houghton flushed and put the helm over a few 
spokes. Tillman had a lot of common sense, though 
up to this no one would have suspected this, and 
his rebuke was all the more severe because deserve'd. 
Worrying about the future becomes a crime when 
it detracts from the business of the moment and 
lets the ship off the course. 

At three bells, the whole crew being on deck and 
the coast close up to them, Hull, who had been 
looking through the glass, handed it to Macquart. 

“That’s the rock you spoke of if I ain’t mistaken,” 
said Hull. 

Macquart looked through the glass. 

“That’s the rock,” said he. 

He kept the glass to his eye for a full half-minute, 
then he handed it to Tillman. 

Tillman took a peep at the object in question. 

It was a remarkable feature on that flat shore, 
where the mangrove trees crept down literally to 
the edge of the reef-protected water. 

The whole coast-line seemed reef-protected, and 
in the sun blaze the foam breaking on the reefs 
shewed like snow. 

“Well,” said Hull, “it’s not invitin’, but there’s 


ii 6 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


the rock, anyway, as you said it would be, and it’s 
up to you, Mac, to pilot us in.” 

“Keep her as she goes,” said Macquart. 

As pilot, the command of the Barracuda was now 
in his hands and Hull was his servant, but he did 
not “swell himself,” to use Hull’s expression. He 
had the appearance of a man deeply absorbed in 
some fateful speculation and he drew apart from 
the others, his eyes fixed on the coast and sometimes 
cast anxiously to windward. 

The wind held steady, almost due south, and now 
with the Pulpit Rock coming abreast of them, Mac- 
quart gave an order, the spokes of the wheel flew 
to starboard and the Barracuda, with the main boom 
swung out and sailing dead before the wind, headed 
for the shore. 

Hull, shading his eyes with the sharp of his hand,- 
saw the great black break in the reefs they were 
making for. It was the break where the river dis- 
embogued and he pointed it out to Tillman. 

“That’s the river, anyway,” said he, u and a fair 
wind to take us up. I reckon Mac’s no fool. Up to 
this I’ve never been sure of him, but he’s made good 
so far.” 

“Yes, we haven’t got on badly up to now,” said 
Tillman. 

As they drew closer in, the reef opening spread 
wider before them, and the Barracuda, going be- 
fore the wind, took the gentle swell with the light 
and buoyant motion of a balloon; the foam bursts 
of the reefs shewed a long way to port and star- 
board as they passed the reef ends and now, the 


THEY SIGHT THE RIVER 


1 17 

land close up on either hand, the river lay before 
them like a sheet of gold. 

Houghton stood speechless before the strange- 
ness and beauty of this place so remote and so dif- 
ferent from any place he had seen before. Save 
for the great rock standing like a sentinel and 
swarmed about by gulls, the land shewed nothing but 
foliage, the dark green of mangroves dreaming 
upon their water-shadows, the emerald fronds of 
palm, the wind-stirred masses of the dammar, cutch 
and camphor, wildernesses on either side the river; 
all these held a charm mysterious as the charm of 
the river itself flowing in stereoscopic stillness from 
the mysterious land beyond. 

It was here that the Terschelling came in all 
those years ago, either under sail if the wind was 
favourable, or towed or warped up that bright wa- 
terway to her last anchorage, with John Lant di- 
recting operations and Macquart, no doubt, assist- 
ing as deck hand. 

It was away up there in the mysterious country 
that she was sunk with all hands bottled in the fo’- 
c’sle after the gold had been safely cached. It was 
up there that Macquart, according to all probabil- 
ity, had done John Lant in, and, profiting nothing 
by his crime, had escaped with his bare life from 
the place to which he was now stealing back. 

For a moment, as these thoughts occurred to 
Houghton, the whole brilliant scene before him be- 
came tinged with gloom and tragedy and Macquart 
a figure of horror; for a moment, as they passed 
the river mouth and took the gentle current of the 


1 1 8 THE GOLD TRAIL 

half-mile broad stream, a hand seemed thrust 
against his breast and a voice seemed to cry, “Be- 
gone!” And then, flashing by him came a thing 
like a lady’s jewelled aigrette — it was a humming 
bird, and following this vision came a vague trace 
of perfume from the tree wilderness of the banks. 
The feeling passed from Houghton’s mind, the 
warning was forgotten — the river had taken him in 
the toils of its fascination. 

“The tide is with us,” said Macquart. 

They had struck the reef opening shortly after 
the turn of the tide. It was a tidal river and 
against the slackened current they now made way 
almost as well as in the open sea. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE LAGOON 



ILLMAN was at the wheel and Macquart, call- 


ing Jacky, ordered him to take Tillman’s 
place. Then he led the others a bit forward. 

“Now,” said he, “here’s the river. Have I spoken 
rightly? Have I judged rightly? I have brought 
you nearly to the spot and it all depends on the 
decision we take now whether we pull this thing 
through or not. 

“The village lies on the left bank, maybe six or 
more miles up — say seven, the waterway is broad 
and we can get the Barracuda up easy enough; 
well, we mustn’t take her that far, we mustn’t take 
her more than another mile or two up. We’ve got 
to tie her somewhere on the bank, somewhere se- 
cure and hidden, and go on to the village in the 
boat.” 

“Good Lord,” said Tillman, “what are you say- 
ing? Leave the Barracuda and maybe have her 
run away with?” 

“I tell you,” said Macquart, “it’s not safe. You 
haven’t thought the thing out as I have. If we tie 
up by the village what will happen if there’s a 
row? If we have to escape in a hurry? You can 


120 THE GOLD TRAIL 

easily push a boat off, but you can’t easily get the 
yawl away.” 

“There’s truth in what he says,” put in Hull. 
“But who can we leave with her?” 

Macquart shrugged his shoulders. 

“Leave with her? No one. There’s no one here 
to touch her. Only the monkeys — they won’t harm 
her.” 

“And what are we to say to the chaps at the 
village?” 

“Say that we have left our ship down the river; 
that very fact will give us extra protection.” 

“One moment,” said Tillman. He drew Hough- 
ton aside and they both went into the bow. 

“What do you think of this?” said Tillman. “Is 
it some trick of Macquart’s or what?” 

“No,” said Houghton. “The chap’s frightened 
right enough and he’s thinking of his own skin. 
If these people in the village are the same as he 
left there fifteen years ago and if that woman is 
still alive, and if they recognise him, well, you see, 
there’ll be a shindy right off — that’s what it is. 
Better do as he says; he’s playing for safety, not 
against us.” 

“I’m your way of thinking,” said Tillman. 

They turned aft. 

“Well,” said Hull, “what have you decided?” 

“Tie up,” said Tillman. “It’s the safest way, 
but the question is, where?” 

“Oh, that’s easily found,” said Macquart. “You 
wait.” 

About two miles from the mouth they opened 


THE LAGOON 


12 1 


what seemed the mouth of another river on the left 
bank, and Macquart ordered the mainsail to be low- 
ered and the boat got out for a tow. 

“It’s a lagoon,’’ said he, “as good as a harbour, 
nothing will touch her in there. She’d lie to the 
Day of Judgment, and they wouldn’t find her then. 
Now, out with the boat, sharp, we don’t want to 
drift.” 

They lowered the boat, the tow rope was fixed, 
and Macquart was the first man into her. Tillman, 
Houghton and Hull followed him, leaving Jacky 
on board to steer. 

Macquart was right. Through the opening in the 
left bank, the river bayed out into a lagoon. A 
still sheef of water on which the columns of the 
nipah palms lining the banks were reflected as in 
a mirror. The tropical forest festooned with lianas 
and wild convolvulus came down to the water’s 
edge. At night, and especially on a night of the 
full moon, this place would be filled with the chant- 
ing of birds, the girding and guggling and yooping 
of monkeys and the cry of prowling beasts. Now, 
in the full blaze of day, it was silent, with the 
silence of a room locked up from the world. 

Things like red moths were flitting hither and 
thither across the water surface just as you have 
seen the mayflies flit across a brook. Houghton, 
glancing up from the labour of rowing, saw that 
the moths were birds; tiny red humming birds 
with needle-sharp bills, hundreds and hundreds of 
them dancing and flitting in the sunshine. 

When they had brought the Barracuda a hun- 


122 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


dred yards or so within the lagoon they boarded her 
and dropped the anchor in two fathom water. 
Then, taking to the boat again and armed with a 
sounding lead, they started out to hunt for a berth. 

They found an ideal one on the left hand side 
counting from the point of entrance. Here for the 
space of seventy feet or so the bank came down 
sheer to the water without any shelving and with 
a depth of three fathoms, whilst the lower branches 
of the huge trees were sufficiently high to clear 
the mainmast of the Barracuda if the topmast were 
struck. 

“We can moor her to them trees,” said Hull. 
“Yes, it’s a likely spot and might ’a’ been laid out 
on purpose; easy to get her in and easy to get her 
out, and no harbour dues. Now, then, all aboard 
and let’s get done with it.” 

They struck the topmast of the yawl, lowered 
the mainsail and mizzen, and, having made every- 
thing snug, towed her to the bank. It was after 
sundown when everything was complete and, tired 
out, they went down to the cabin for supper. 

Down below, it seemed to Houghton the strang- 
est thing to be sitting there at table, landlocked 
and moored up to trees after the long, long weeks 
of sea tossing and the eternal noise of the bow 
wash and the boosting of the waves. The others 
did not seem to notice the change. 

Hull, who had retaken charge of things, now 
that Macquart had finished with the piloting, was 
laying down their future plans. 

“We’ll lay up here to-morrer,” said he, “to rest 


THE LAGOON 


123 

and stretch our legs, and the day after to-morrer, 
bright and early, we’ll man the boat and start for 
the village. Now it’s in my mind when we’ve made 
good with the village people and tapped the cache 
and made sure the stuff’s there, it will be best to 
bring the yawl right up. You see, if we leave her 
here, we’ll have to bring the stuff down by boat- 
loads.” 

Macquart, who had retired into himself all 
through the voyage as though the presence of Hull 
had paralysed his initiative, rose from the table, 
sat down on one of the bunk edges and nursed his 
knee. 

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, as though he were 
addressing a meeting, “I am not with Captain Hull. 
I believe I have some right to give an opinion, con- 
sidering the fact that this expedition was originated 
by me and that I alone have the key to the cache.” 

Hull grumbled something unintelligible and Mac- 
quart went on : 

“Besides, I have thought the matter out most 
carefully, and it is for your good, as well as my 
own, that I say the Barracuda must remain here 
right through this business.” 

“Oh, she must, must she?” said Hull. “Seems to 
me you’re beginnin’ to lay the law down, Mac. 
None of us is to say a word but take your leadin’ 
like baa lambs. D’you think you’re the only one> 
of the lot of us rigged with eyes and understanding 
I say that when we touch this stuff we’ll bring the 
yawl up to load it and if the niggers give trouble 
we’ll hold them down with our guns ; why, you blessed 


124 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


skimshanker, it’d take a dozen journeys up and down 
with a boat; we’d have to go with the boat each 
journey, and who’s to be left at the cache to protect 
the stuff?” 

Houghton noticed all through this conversation 
that Macquart’s eyes were steadily fixed on Hull and 
that his face had been growing pale under its bronze. 
He had guessed the hatred that existed between 
the two men, but he failed to plumb the depth and 
intensity of the passion surging in the breast of Mac- 
quart. 

Leaving aside all old scores, Hull had got the 
better of him at the start of the expedition. Mac- 
quart, the cock of the walk and boss of the busi- 
ness, with two greenhorns to work for his ends and 
a sound boat under his feet, had suddenly found 
himself hampered and checkmated by the inscru- 
table Screed. 

Macquart was one of those sinister men of whom 
we can say only this, that their plans are never more 
dark than when they seem most luminous. He had 
felt Tillman and Houghton to be putty in his hands, 
and Jacky a black pawn to be played with as he 
chose, and though it is impossible to define his ex- 
act plan of campaign, already prepared no doubt 
on the night when he agreed to divide the treasure 
so generously with Screed, Houghton and Tillman, 
one may be sure of this, that the division of the 
treasure had no part in it. Half a million in gold 
coin and bullion ! Screed two thousand miles away 
and only Tillman and Houghton to deal with and 
bamboozle — or worse! All the elements lay here 


THE LAGOON 


125 


for a coup for a genius to pull off and Macquart 
— as will be seen — if not a genius, was at least a 
superlatively clever and astute man. 

Screed had fancied that the final disposal of the 
treasure would prove such an insuperable obstacle 
to villainy that Macquart would be driven to re- 
turn to Sydney to “cash it.” Screed, the clever busi- 
ness man with no illusions and no beliefs, had di- 
vined Macquart and his possibilities and had not felt 
quite sure that the latter would find the disposal of 
the treasure an impossible task and so be driven back 
to Sydney. Not being quite sure, he played his 
trump card, Hull. 

So it came about that Macquart on the point of 
sailing, found suddenly dumped on him the big, 
strong man he feared and hated, the man who knew 
exactly what sort of character he was, and the man 
who, having been twice diddled by him, was evi- 
dently determined never to be so treated again. 

Then Hull had taken virtual command of the 
expedition and he had worked Macquart like a 
dog. The explosion that now followed was the 
result of all this. 

Macquart sprang from the edge of the bunk and 
stood upright before the Captain. 

“D n you,” he cried. “Who are you to be 

meddling and ordering and interfering in what you 
don’t understand, — wharf rat sprung from nowhere, 

shot aboard by that Screed. You leave this 

thing alone or I’ll chuck it; one word more from you 
and you can hunt for the stuff yourself, you 


126 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


He was shouting at the top of his voice and Hull 
had drawn back a moment and was preparing to 
strike when Tillman and Houghton flung themselves 
between the antagonists, forcing Macquart back on 
the bunk and Hull to the other side of the table. 

“Don’t be fools,” cried Tillman. “Good Lord, 
the idea of fighting amongst ourselves in our posi- 
tion. Can’t you see there’s no use in arguing what 
we’ll do till we’ve touched the stuff?” 

“Let up,” said the Captain, who had recovered 
possession of himself. “I’m not goin’ to touch the 
blighter — but one word more of his lip and I’ll 
break his neck. There, that’s said and done. Let 
him sit there and cool.” He turned and went on 
deck, where Tillman and Houghton followed him. 

The moon had risen and the lagoon water half- 
veiled by a faint mist lay spread to the bosky 
shadows of the trees lining its banks. 

To Houghton it seemed that he had never seen 
a place so secretive and vaguely sinister as this sheet 
of water hemmed in by the tropical forest now 
buzzing and thrilling and chattering with the night 
life of the woods. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE BLACK SHIP 

N EXT morning at breakfast all signs of the 
quarrel had disappeared. Macquart seemed 
cheerful and the Captain had got into the old ban- 
tering way of talking to him. He did not seem 
to resent it. After breakfast, they set to work to 
make everything snug and secure on board. They 
brought the topmast down and lashed it with the 
spare spars on deck, stowed away everything mov- 
able, even to the collapsible boat, and put ashore 
extra mooring ropes. Then they collected on deck 
the stores for the boat expedition, canned meat and 
vegetables, blankets, a tent, matches, ammunition 
and a small parcel of trade, consisting of stick to- 
bacco, knives, dollar watches and clay pipes. 

The lazaret was carefully secured and every 
locker fastened, and an hour or two before sun- 
down all the preparations were finished for the start 
on the morrow. 

“Well, that’s done,” said Tillman, as he surveyed 
their work. “Nothing will move her except, maybe, 
an earthquake or a tornado.” He filled his pipe and 
lit it. Houghton also produced a pipe, whilst Hull, 
perspiring from the work he had been upon, went 
127 


128 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


below for a drink. Macquart had taken his seat 
on deck and was engaged in mending a rent in his 
trousers. He was often patching himself up like 
this. In Sydney, he could have borrowed the money 
from Screed for a full outfit, or got it on credit 
from the outfitter of the expedition, but he had 
come away with only a few things, perhaps from 
carelessness or from some strange twist of the mind 
making him utterly regardless of appearances. 

“Come out on the water,” said Tillman to Hough- 
ton; “it’s cooler out there and we can explore round 
a bit.” 

They got into the boat which was lying alongside 
and pushed out into the lagoon. 

The sunlight was striking the water across the 
tree-tops, and the trees of the southern bank threw 
their cave-like shadow far out on the water; against 
this shadow the moth-like dance of the humming 
birds patterned itself with an effect at once gorgeous 
and ghostly. 

This place was the paradise of birds; the gorgeous 
collared lory preened itself on the lower branches of 
the trees by the water, answering with its beaver-like 
noise the ka-ka-toi, ka-ka-toi of the white cockatoos 
haunting the groves ; the wonderful crowned pigeon 
flitted across from bank to bank; fork-tailed water 
chats and blue flycatchers flew everywhere, and, as 
the boat floated along skirting the shadows, king- 
fishers like birds carved from emerald shewed mo- 
tionless as sentries perched on drift logs by the 
banks. 

They had rowed towards the south bank, and now 


THE BLACK SHIP 


129 

they sat smoking and letting the boat drift on the 
edge of the tree shadows. 

Nothing is better than tobacco after labour; per- 
haps, after all, nothing in a material way is bet- 
ter than tobacco, that true “gift” of God to man. 

Tillman was thinking as he smoked, and Hough- 
ton was engaged on the same line of thought as 
Tillman. The latter was the first to speak. 

“I wish I could put a stopper on Hull in some 
way,” said he. “He’s been working Macquart up 
ever since we started; he won’t let the chap alone; 
he keeps on at him, pretending to joke and sneering 
at him all the time.” 

“He’s got a frightful down on him,” said Hough- 
ton, “and I don’t wonder; from what I can make 
out, Mac has bested him more than once. Hull 
told me something of what happened between them 
four years ago in ’Frisco. Macquart got away that 
time, and they didn’t meet again till that morning, 
you remember, when we were coming from having 
our first look at the Barracuda. Seems like fate that 
they should have met just then.” 

“The world’s a small place,” said Tillman, “and 
that’s the first thing that a scamp finds out. Hullo !” 

The boat floating with the current that moved 
the lagoon water just here bumped gently against 
something and slowed round, nose to shore. 

Tillman looked over. 

“Why, it’s all black rocks,” said he. “No — it’s 
not rocks; it looks like an old landing-stage of some 
sort sunk by the bank.” 

Houghton leaned over the starboard gunnel. 


130 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


“Why, it’s the bones of an old ship,” said he, 
with a catch-back of his breath. “She’s been burnt 
at her moorings, and we’ve hit one of her mast 
stumps.” 

He was right. Looking down through the water, 
the charred deck planking and bulwarks could be 
plainly made out. The planking had burst up here 
and there, shewing wide yawning holes through 
which the flames and smoke had once poured, before 
the seams had opened letting in the lagoon water to 
quench the flames; the bulwarks were all gone from 
the knight-heads to midships on the port side, and 
the upper planking also, so that the ribs stood up 
like piles. 

Small fish were darting in and out of the gloomy 
cavern that had once been the main hold and a 
great eel waved its way from between the ribs and 
scuttled off along the lagoon floor as if resenting 
the presence of the gazers above. Not a sign of 
mast or spar was visible with the exception of the 
fore-mast stump with which the boat had collided. 

The two men looked at one another. 

“That’s funny, isn’t it?” said Tillman. “She must 
have been a fairly big ship.” 

“Maybe brought in here by pirates,” said Hough- 
ton. “Looks as though the masts had been shot 
away.” 

“Oh, the fire would have done that,” said Till- 
man. “I’ve seen a ship in Sydney Harbour with 
the masts clean gone through fire and not much sign 
of damage to the hull; you see, the standing rigging 
goes and the part of the mast below decks. If this 


THE BLACK SHIP 


i3 1 

chap was burnt here, the main and mizzen masts 
most likely broke off, and once they were in the 
lagoon they would have floated away on the 
current.’’ 

“I don’t know what it is,” said Houghton, “but 
this lagoon makes me feel that I want to get away 
from it; funny, isn’t it, but, from the first, I felt 
there was something crawly about it. It’s just the 
place for river pirates to hide in, and I expect 
bloody work has gone on here long ago.” 

“Oh, the lagoon is all right,” said Tillman. “One 
never can tell; this old hooker may have been a 
peaceful trader set a light to by some d — d fool 
messing round with a light, the same as the Baralong 
was burnt just outside the Heads.” 

“Maybe so,” replied Houghton; “all the same, I 
don’t like this place.” 

They rowed back to the yawl and reported their 
find, without raising any interest or speculation in 
Hull and Macquart. 

“Some old tub scuttled for insurance, maybe,” 
said Hull. “No, I ain’t particular about goin’ to 
look at her. I guess she’ll keep. I’m goin’ to turn 
in when I’ve had my supper, for we’ll have to be off 
before sun-up, so’s to reach the village in the cool 
of the day.” 

They had lit a fire on the bank to keep the mos- 
quitoes off, though the mosquitoes here were far 
less troublesome than one might have expected, ow- 
ing, perhaps, to the fact that the water was not 
stagnant. 

Tillman threw some more sticks on the fire and 


i 3 2 THE GOLD TRAIL 

then they went below to supper, after which they 
turned in. 

They were awakened by Jacky. 

It was an hour before dawn, a slight wind had 
risen, blowing the mists from the lagoon, and as 
they came on deck the mist wreaths were passing 
off like the ghosts of scarfs, wreathing unseen forms 
and leaving great spaces of star-shot water frosted 
by the breeze. 

They breakfasted hurriedly, and everything be- 
ing stowed on board the boat, they got in and pushed 
off just as the first lilac of the dawn was touch- 
ing the sky beyond the tree-tops. 

When they reached the river, the wind was fresher 
and blowing with them, and before they had made 
half a mile upstream, the sun was blazing through 
the trees of the left bank and the parrots shouting 
at them from the branches. 

Just at this hour, the river was lovely, fresh, 
fair and brilliant. Butterflies big as birds and 
gorgeous as flowers pursued them or flitted across 
the boat; azure butterflies like flakes of sky, butter- 
flies of bronze and gold in whose broad wings were 
set little clear spaces like panes of mica. 

A mile and a half or perhaps two miles above 
the lagoon, the river took a bend westward, and 
the right bank losing its trees shewed tracts of cane 
and tall grass, with here and there a great tree stand- 
ing in isolation. 

The left bank shewed still the edge of the eter- 
nal, unbroken forest, the forest just as it was when 


THE BLACK SHIP 


133 

Moses gave laws to Israel, just as it will be when 
all present things are forgotten. 

Although it was so early in the morning, the heat 
of the sun was beginning to have its effect; the bend 
of the river had partially cut off the breeze from 
them, and the river itself, scarcely stirred by the 
movement of the air, lay mirror bright and blinding 
between the emerald of the canes and the gloom 
of the forest. 

Four miles or so up from the lagoon they called 
a halt, and tied the boat to a treeroot on the forest 
bank. 

“There’s no use killing ourselves,” said Hull. 
“This ain’t no boat-race, and I’m crool stiff from 
sittin’ for a month idle in that blessed old bath-tub 
of a Barracuda. Well, Mac, how are the indica- 
tions goin’?” 

“The village should be above the next bend,” 
said Macquart. “It’s on the left bank — that’s this 
one, and it’s fixed in a clearing among the trees, so 
that you can’t mistake it.” 

“You seem to have it all laid down in your head,” 
said Hull. “One might swear you’d been here be- 
fore and taken the indications, and yet you only 
had them laid down for you by another chap ; blest if 
I’d be able to hold all that in my intellect; but 
folk varies, there aren’t two words about that.” 

Macquart said nothing in reply to this compli- 
ment, and Tillman felt more than ever sure that 
the river was quite familiar to him. 

But the idea of the treasure had now got such 


134 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


a clutch on the mind of Tillman that all other con- 
siderations were laid aside. 

If Macquart had been a member of the crew of 
the T erschelling , if he had done all that he and 
Houghton suspected him of doing, what then? It 
was a question between Macquart and his Maker. 

Besides, the whole thing was a suspicion, and 
no one would ever know the truth. 

As to the treasure, in a very short time now it 
ought to be under their hands, if it existed, and 
that burning thought cast him into silence and sealed 
his mind to everything else. 

But Houghton was not silent. 

“It was a good long way to bring that ship up, 
wasn’t it?” said he to Macquart. 

“That depends how you look at it,” said Mac- 
quart. “It seems a long way in a boat, but look 
at the current; it’s nothing, scarcely a knot and a 
half. With a decent wind, a ship wouldn’t take long 
coming up, and without a wind and with a full ship’s 
company, warping and towing would be pretty easy 
work.” 

# He yawned as if tired of the subject, and re-lit 
his pipe which had gone out. 

They rested an hour, and then took to the oars 
again; keeping close to the bank, they cleared the 
next vague bend of the broad flowing river and a 
mile beyond Macquart, standing up in the boat and 
shading his eyes, gave an exclamation of surprise. 

“That’s the spot,” said he, “by all indications; but 
there’s a landing-stage— that’s something new.” 


THE BLACK SHIP 


i35 

The words caused a chill in the hearts of his 
companions. 

They did not know till this moment how com- 
pletely they had put their faith in Macquart’s abil- 
ity to put his hand on the cache. The note of sur- 
prise in his voice was like a disturbing breath to their 
confidence. 

He resumed his oar, and rowing feverishly they 
made the water foam in the wake of the boat, whilst 
the sound of the oars in the rowlocks carried far 
along the river. 

It was the sound of the oars, perhaps, that 
brought to their view the first human figure sighted 
by them since leaving Sydney. 

A man had come out on the landing-stage and was 
standing as if watching them, a white man dressed 
in dingy white drill and wearing a battered old five- 
dollar panama hat. 

Houghton, as they drew close, thought he had 
never seen a more villainous-looking individual. 


CHAPTER XIV 


WIART 

H E was unhealthily stout and of medium height; 

he wore black side-whiskers of the mutton- 
chop variety, and his fat white face had such a 
stamp of meanness and debauchery that even Hull, 
who was not an impressionable individual, felt, to 
use his own words, “put off.” 

“Hullo!” said the stranger, as they came rub- 
bing up to the rotten piles of the stage. “Where 
have you come from?” 

“Down the river,” said Hull, fastening the painter 
to a stake, “and who might you be?” 

“Oh, good Lord !” said the other. “Ask me some- 
thing else; Pve near forgotten my own name. Who 
might I be? Why, I’m the trader here. Rubber 
getting, that’s my business, Wiart’s my name. Got 
any lush in that boat of yours?” 

A faint odour of gin and the manner and speech 
of the trader told their tale. 

*‘Not a drop,” said Hull, scrambling on to the 
stage whilst the others followed him. “We’re a tee- 
total picnic. That your house?” 

On the bank to the right hand of the stage stood 
a frame-wood house limewashed as to the walls; 
beyond the house, and in a great clearing amongst 
136 


WIART 


137 

the trees, lay a native village deserted except for a 
few goats and a stray dog or two. 

“Yes, that’s my house,” said Wiart. “Come up 
and have a drink; that’s the village, people are 
mostly at work — come ’long.” 

He led them to the front of the house, which 
was situated away from the river, and then into the 
main room, a place barely furnished with native mats 
and cane chairs, and wearing such a look of neglect 
and sordidness and so littered and dirty that the soul 
of Houghton turned against it. 

An old beer crate, long emptied of its contents 
and filled with rubbish, stood in one corner. On 
the table stood a bottle of squareface, a tumbler of 
thick glass and a water-pitcher; a rifle hung on the 
wall opposite the door and in another corner lay 
a pile of old newspapers many months old. There 
were chairs for all, and they sat down, refusing the 
offer of drink, whilst Wiart, taking his seat at the 
table, poured himself out a stimulant. 

Then he rolled cigarettes and smoked them whilst 
they talked. 

Macquart did the questioning. 

“There used to be a Dyak village just here,” said 
Macquart. 

“There is still,” said Wiart, “but the Dyaks4iave 
nearly died out. Mostly Papuans now; they do the 
rubber getting. There’s not more than twenty 
Dyaks left; rum lot they are, won’t work; there’s 
an old woman, she’s the chief of them, and her 
daughter, she’s a peach, and ten or twelve chaps and 
their wives and children. Their village lies in the 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


138 

trees there to the left of the Papuan village — they 
fish mostly and hunt, and they’re a holy terror to the 
other natives. — Gosh, yes — they use blow-pipes and 
go about with stabbing spears. And they take heads. 
You wouldn’t believe it, but it’s true. The young 
chaps before they get married go off and make a 
quarrel with some Papuan village somewhere near, 
and lay for one of the niggers, and kill him, and 
take his head. A Dyak girl won’t look at a man 
unless he brings her a head. Would you think it 
now, these times, with trains and steamboats and 
missionaries and all such, and head-hunting going on 
under one’s nose; not that I care, as long as they 
don’t go for mine; but it’s the idea of the thing 
that gets me. Head-hunting these days and a civ- 
ilised man like me having to sit still in the middle 
of it — it’s enough to drive a man to drink living 
cheek by jowl with such heathen, and they walk the 
world ’s if they were God Almighty; look down on 
me they do, tie their fishing boats up to my landing- 
stage without as much as by your leave, or with your 
leave; and the old woman’s the worst, she’s a witch 
and holds the Paps in mighty terror of spells and 
such-like. I told the company — I work for a rub- 
ber company — they ought to be cleared out, but the 
company has no guts in them, they don’t care as long 
as the profits hold good. I’m not going to stand it, 
I’ve stood it long enough, I have so.” 

Wiart, growing almost tearful, took another pull 
at his drink, and Macquart, who had been watching 
him, shot another question. 


WIART 139 

“How long has this trading station been here?” 
asked he. 

“Oh, seven years or so,” replied Wiart, wiping 
his mouth with the back of his hand. “There was 
a chap called Johnstone here before me; he was 
here four years and died of something or another. 
He was frightfully thick with the Dyaks ; they used 
to talk to him in English ; the old woman’s daughter 
isn’t a full Dyak either, mixed blood; she can talk 
a lot of English; I’ve talked to her, told her not 
to tie her boat to my steps and she sauced me back; 
that was after she refused to have any truck with 
me. D — d montybank of a nigger girl talking back 
at me like that.” 

“What’s her name?” put in Houghton. 

“Chaya, same as the old woman; she’s the daugh- 
ter, and the Lord knows who was her father; but 
she’s a peach, all the same, there’s no denying that.” 

Houghton glanced at Tillman. 

“Do you make much money at this here busi- 
ness?” asked Hull. 

“A mug’s game,” replied Wiart. “There’s no 
money in it except maybe for the Company, and 
they have dozens of posts like this; even then we’re 
done out by the chaps that can use niggers as they 
ought to be used in the other rubber districts; this 

is a Dutch company, a lot of fools !” His head 

began to droop, and his lower lip to turn down, his 
cigarette had gone out. Gin had him like a nurse 
and was lulling him to sleep ; he started awake again 
and begged pardon, lit his cigarette, talked a bit 
more and then relapsed again, and during that re- 


140 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


lapse the others filed out softly into the clean air 
of the natural world. 

“He’s been drinking hard, that chap,” said Hull, 
“and he’ll have the jim-jams if he’s not careful. I 
don’t ever want to smell gin again. Now then, Mac, 
let’s get to business, the boat and the stuff in her 
will look after themselves. Is this the place, by 
your indications?” 

“It is,” said Macquart. 

“Then,” said Hull, “lead us to the spot where 
the cache is.” 

“One moment,” said Macquart. “You surely 
don’t want to go there in the broad light of day 
with some one maybe spotting us.” 

“Wiart’s asleep,” replied Hull, “and there’s no 
one to look; what better do you want?” 

“I tell you,” replied the other, “that wood may 
be full of eyes; it’s plain madness to go straight 
after landing to a spot that any one can follow us 
to.” 

“Maybe he’s right,” said Tillman. “The cache 
won’t run away, it’s been there long enough.” 

“Then what do you propose to do?” grumbled 
Hull. 

“Get the tent and stores ashore,” said Macquart, 
“and put up the tent somewhere among the trees; 
Jacky and one of us can sleep in Wiart’s house, 
and three of us in the tent.” 

“Not me,” said Tillman. “I’m not going to sleep 
in that gin palace.” 

“I’d sooner sleep in the boat,” said Houghton. 

“I’m — if I wouldn’t sooner sleep in the river than 


WIART 


14 1 

under the same roof with thajt graven image of 
d’lirium trimins,” said Hull; “not me.” 

“Well, I’ll sleep there, I’m not particular,” said 
Macquart. “It’s a roof, and anything is better than 
a tent.” 

They turned back to the boat. 

Tillman, who was leading the way, reached the 
landing-stage first. He turned and called to the 
others to hurry up. Then, without a word, he 
pointed to something. 

Moored to the stage by the boat lay a fishing 
canoe. A slim brown canoe with an outrigger. A 
paddle and a fish spear lay in it, also a spar with a 
brown sail. 

Sign of owner there was none, and there was 
something fierce and savage in the form and ap- 
pearance of this thing that struck the four adven- 
turers like the zip of an arrow in a wood. 

“You see,” said Macquart, “it’s just as well we 
were careful. That canoe has been following us, 
unless it has come from the upper river, which is 
unlikely.” He looked into it more attentively, and 
saw a fish lying on the bottom board and half hid- 
den by the mast and sail. It was a flying fish. 

He pointed it out. 

“I thought so. It has come up from the sea, and 
we didn’t even glimpse it, though it must have been 
not far behind us.” 

“Well, it don’t much matter,” said Hull. “But 
it’s just as well for us to keep our eyes open. Com,e 
along and get the stuff up. Fetch the tent along first 
and let’s prospect for a place to fix it.” 


142 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


They carried the tent to a clearing in the trees 
to the left of the Papuan village and set it up. Then 
the rest of the boat’s contents, including a spade and 
small pick-axe, were stored by the tent and covered 
with the boat’s sail. The oars and the bailing tin 
were left in the boat. 

‘‘They’ll be safe there,” said Hull, “unless any 
one runs away with the boat, and even if they did, 
we can always tramp back down river to the yawl.” 

He ordered Jacky to light a fire and prepare a 
meal, and whilst this was being done, they strolled 
round the Papuan village. 

The huts, thatched with sago palm leaves, were 
raised on piles about six feet from the ground; not 
a soul was visible, with the exception of one old 
woman, who was engaged in watching some goats. 
She seemed half idiotic and scarcely turned her head 
to look at the intruders, and they passed on, Hull 
leading the way. 

As they were turning to go back, from the trees 
on the right suddenly appeared a form. It was the 
form of a girl. 

She paused in the tree shadows and stood looking 
at them. She was clad in some light white mate- 
rial, cast loosely and gracefully about her, after the 
fashion of the Greek himation ; one brown arm was 
exposed to the shoulders and a ray of light piercing 
the leaves above struck the copper bangle fixed above 
the elbow. 

Houghton thought that he had never seen a more 
lovely picture. 


WIART 


143 

She was lovely, a revelation, a dream, mysterious 
as the forest that had suddenly given her birth. 

For a moment she stood, and then just as a dream, 
she vanished, the leaves re-took her, and now for 
the first time they saw that she had not been alone ; 
the glimpse of a half-naked figure shewed through 
the leaves, the figure of a youth, supple and sinuous 
and graceful as a faun, then it vanished also and 
nothing shewed but the trees and the still-moving 
leaves. 

“That’s the gal,” said Hull; “that’s the peach the 
gin-man was yarning about; b’gosh, he was right! — 
she’s an a-pricot.” He spoke without enthusiasm, 
though with conviction. His temper had been brit- 
tle all the morning, and the feeling that the girl and 
young man had been spying on them did not im- 
prove it. 

Houghton said nothing; the fact was being borne 
in on him that he had seen John Lant’s daughter; 
Chaya, the girl half European, half Dyak, the child 
that had been born to Lant before he had come to 
his untimely end. 

As they returned to the tent, they did not notice 
that the old woman who had been tending the goats 
had risen and was making off among the trees. 


CHAPTER XV 


THEY START TO DIG 

W HEN they got back they found that Jacky had 
laid out some food and was squatting on his 
heels by the fire he had built close to the tent. He 
was boiling some water for tea. They drank tea 
at nearly every meal and they drank it sometimes 
between meals; it was their main stand-by, and the 
sight of the preparations for making it restored 
Hull’s good-humour. 

The Captain fell to on the food, as did Tillman. 
Houghton touched nothing, waiting for the tea. He 
had lost interest for the moment in food, in the 
expedition, in everything under the sun except the 
vision of the girl that still pursued him. It seemed 
to him that he had travelled the whole of his jour- 
ney through life to arrive at this sight and this end. 
Fate had shewn him an absolutely new thing, and 
in one moment had led him into an absolutely new 
world. 

When Goethe laid down the dictum that some 
element of disproportion is essential to beauty, he 
meant really to say that absolute and entrancing 
beauty is impossible without individuality. It must 
break away from type, leave the accepted rules, and, 
144 


THEY START TO DIG 


i45 

without entirely ignoring them, create itself and in 
itself a new thing. 

Where the others had only perceived a pretty 
girl, Houghton, who possessed the instincts and the 
eye of an artist, saw a thing miraculous and miracle- 
working. His mind had been a thousand leagues 
from women, he had fancied that he had done with 
women forever, and now, all at once, came to him 
the knowledge that until a few minutes ago he had 
never really seen a woman, had never even touched 
the fringe of that awful power that makes or breaks 
or binds a man forever. 

The beauty of Chaya, as disclosed to him in that 
moment when her eyes, gazing at the group, had 
rested on him in turn, was a thing miraculous as 
though speech had come to the forest or voice to 
the sky depths above the trees. A whole world in 
himself of whose existence he had known nothing 
awoke in troublous life, never to sleep again. 

And he had to sit now whilst the Captain, munch- 
ing bully beef, expounded his ideas as to their fu- 
ture proceedings to Macquart and Tillman. 

“I don’t care a dump,” said the Captain, “whether 
we’re watched or whether we ain’t; I’m goin’ for 
that stuff to-night after sundown. Ain’t we armed? 
My plan is this, once we make sure the stuff’s in the 
cache, we’ll move the tent there and camp over it, 
then at night times we can move the stuff off bit by 
bit to the boat. It’ll take several journeys down to 
the yawl; or better still, we’ll bring the yawl right 
up here, now we know the natives are well disposed, 
and load up here. Who’s got a better plan than 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


146 

that? Mac, you’ve got to bring us to the stuff 
to-night; I ain’t goin’ to be put off waitin’ — what do 
you say, Tillman?” 

“I’m with you,” said Tillman. “We’ll go and 
scratch the cache, and once we’re sure the stuff’s 
there, we’ll bring the yawl right up; four of us 
can do that, leaving one behind to guard the 
boodle.” 

“Very well,” said Macquart. “I’ll lead you to the 
spot to-night.” 

Macquart had long dropped more than the 
vaguest pretence of acting in this affair under direc- 
tions and plans given him by some one else. Had 
any of them taxed him with the fact that he had once 
belonged to Lant’s crew and had assisted in the 
burying of the gold, I doubt if he would have both- 
ered to refute the impeachment. Even if, as Cur- 
lewis had guessed and Tillman supposed, he had been 
the instrument of Lant’s death, why should he care; 
there were no witnesses, fifteen years had passed and 
Lant was no doubt forgotten, even by the natives. 

“The Terschelling was sunk in the river close to 
the cache, you said?” spoke up Tillman, who was en- 
gaged now in lighting a pipe. 

“Yes,” said Macquart, “that’s the story.” 

“They wouldn’t have sunk her more than over 
her decks,” went on Tillman. “There wouldn’t have 
been water enough for more than that — some of her 
bones ought to be lying there still.” 

“Maybe they are,” replied Macquart; “unless the 
wash of the river has swept them away.” 

“What a devil that Lant must have been,” went 


THEY START TO DIG 


i47 


on Tillman. “You said he waited till all the crew 
but one man were in the fo’c’s’le and then clapped 
the hatches on ’em?” 

“That’s the yarn,” said Macquart. 

Tillman seemed about to pursue the subject, then 
he seemed to think better of it. 

There was no use in raking up this old business. 
The question whether this one man, who was not 
included in the general murder of the crew, had 
assisted in the murder or not was a question for 
him to settle with his Maker. 

Tillman was certain in his own mind that this man 
had been Macquart, and he chose to leave it at that 
without further enquiry. 

Towards evening, the Papuan rubber getters re- 
turned from work, and almost at the same time Dyak 
canoes began to arrive from the sea. 

The Dyak fishermen as they passed on to their 
village scarcely noticed the new encampment, but 
the Papuans were more curious. Women and chil- 
dren came to look at the newcomers, and a few men, 
to whom Tillman presented tobacco. 

“It’s just as well to keep in with the beggars,” 
said he, “and not one of us can speak their lingo. 
Did you ever see such a depressed-looking lot of 
savages — don’t seem to have any sense — all slit ears 
and wrinkles.” 

“They’re like that from screwin’ up their faces 
against the sun,” said Hull. “There, they’re off; 
look, Wiart has come out; ain't he a sleepin’ beauty; 
he looks as if he’d just woke up after another bout 
of delirium trimins.” 


148 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


Wiart had come out on his verandah, close to 
which the rubber gatherers had placed their baskets. 
The Papuans, who at the sight of him had drawn 
off from the new encampment, were now picking 
up their baskets and following the factor to a go- 
down among the trees, where the rubber would be 
weighed. 

Hull and his companions watched this proceed- 
ing, and they noticed how carefully Wiart, at the 
scales, was attending to his work. 

“Look at him,” said Hull. “There you have 
a trader every time; nearly done in with drink he 
is, yet he’s alive to his bizziness, which is diddling 
the niggers out of rubber. Them traders take the 
cake, they do so; you might cut ’em in pieces and 
all they’d say’d be ‘bizziness.’ I ain’t a particular 

man, but I’d sooner berth with a pirate than a 

trader; they’re a fish-blooded lot, sharks in britches, 
that’s what they are.” 

When the rubber weighing was over and the na- 
tives gone back to their village, Wiart approached 
the tent. 

He seemed very much freshened up, and as he 
took his seat on the ground close to Hull and pro- 
ceeded to light a cigarette, he began to talk. Earlier 
in the day, he had been so dazed with drink that 
he had accepted their statement of having come 
from down river without question. Now he threat- 
ened to shew more interest in their origin and in- 
tentions. 

“It’s good to see white faces again,” said he, 


THEY START TO DIG 


149 

licking the gum on the cigarette paper. “You’re not 
come up here trading, are you?” 

“No,” said Hull; “we’re prospectors.” 

“Oh, prospectors — and what, might I ask, are 
you prospecting for?” 

“Oh, one thin’ or nather,” replied the Captain. 
“Metals mostly.” 

“Well, I don’t know there’s any metals worth 
turning up the ground for,” said Wiart; “and if 
there was, you’d find it difficult working any mine; 
you’d have to import labour, for one thing — where’s 
your ship?” 

“She’s lyin’ off and on,” replied Hull, “mostly 

on We’re a private-owned party, and we 

haven’t come up the river to sell information, but 
to look after our own bizziness, same as you are 
lookin’ after yours.” 

“Oh, I don’t want to put my nose into your 
affairs,” said Wiart. “You can prospect as much 
as you want, it’s no affair of mine. This isn’t my 
river, but I’ll be glad to do what I can for you — 
where do you propose to sleep?” 

It had been suggested by Macquart earlier in the 
day that he and Jacky should sleep in Wiart’s house, 
but second thoughts had made this impossible. 

They required to be free in their movements at 
night, and if Macquart were to sleep at Wiart’s, it 
would be impossible for him to come and go with- 
out the chance of rousing Wiart and making him 
suspicious. 

“Some in the boat and some in the tent,” said 
Hull. “We have mosquito nets enough for both.” 


150 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


“Well, you can put up at my place, if you want 
to,” replied Wiart. 

They talked for awhile on various things, and 
then Wiart went off to supper. 

The sun was setting now across the river, and 
just as his lower limb was cutting the tree-tops, Till- 
man went to the stores that lay under the boat sail 
and fetched out the pick-axe and the mattock. Then 
as the darkness took the river and the stars rushed 
out above, led by Macquart, they set off. 

All along the river bank and for a mile above 
the village, the trees were chiefly sago palm, with 
a few nipah palms near the water's edge; they were 
set fairly wide apart and the going was easy; the 
light of the stars was sufficient for their guide, and 
they could see him as he went in front, a dusky 
shadow amidst the columns of the trees. 

Half a mile or so above the village, the bank 
projected forward into the water, forming a promon- 
tory some twenty yards from base to apex; the river 
took a bend here so that the apex of the promontory 
formed the apex of the bend, and as they stood 
waiting for Macquart, who had stopped to speak, 
they could hear the water gurgling and sobbing 
round it, a mournful sound in the absolute stillness 
of the night. Stillness, that is to say, of the river 
and its bank, for the far forest stretching away in 
bosky billows under the now rising moon could be 
heard vibrating to the touch of night, just as a 
musical glass vibrates to a wet finger. Millions 
of insects and thousands of night birds were be- 
ginning their concert in those haunted groves, where 


THEY START TO DIG 


151 

the moon burned green through the tropical foliage 
and the fathoms of liantasse and convolvulus cables 
sagged across paths untrodden by man. 

Macquart, standing and looking around him, 
seemed at fault. 

Tillman was the first to speak. 

“Well,” said he, “is this the spot?” 

“It is the spot right enough,” replied Macquart; 
“but the indications are gone.” 

“The which is which?” cried Hull. “What are 
you sayin’?” 

“There was a camphor tree there,” said Mac- 
quart, pointing to the apex of the promontory, “and 
another there,” pointing to the base. “The trees 
are gone, damn it! Maybe theyVe been felled, 
maybe a hurricane knocked them down; anyhow,, 
they are gone; but it doesn’t matter. The stuff was 
buried between them and digging will find it.” 

The last words took a load off the minds of the 
adventurers. 

“The cache was right in the middle between the 
two trees,” said Macquart, “and we have only to 
dig in the middle of this bit of the bank to find it.” 

“Well, we’d better take a measurement, so’s to 
get right in the middle,” said Tillman, producing a 
ball of fishing line from his pocket. “Here, Hough- 
ton, lend a hand.” 

Houghton took one end of the line and took it 
to the apex of the promontory, whilst Tillman at 
the base held the other end. 

“That would be about the position of the trees?” 
said he to Macquart. 


15 ?. 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


“There or thereabouts,” replied the other. 

Tillman told Houghton to hold firm to his end 
of the line, then he walked up to him and came back 
with the doubled line, which gave them the half 
distance. 

“This is the spot — or ought to be,” said he. 
“Give us the pick.” 

He drove the pick into the soft earth again and 
again, breaking up the surface ground; then he 
began to dig with the mattock. The others stood 
by watching. 

“What I can’t make out,” said Hull, “there ain’t 
no tree trunks left. If them trees were cut down 
or broken by a storm, where’s them trunks?” 

Macquart laughed. 

“A tree trunk in this part of the world doesn’t 
last long,” he said. “What between the climate 
and the insects, a year would see it gone.” 

“That’s true,” said Houghton. 

Ten minutes later, Tillman stopped work and 
wiped his forehead; he had cleared away the earth 
from a space some yards square, leaving a hole 
about a foot deep. Hull, now, took up the spade 
and went on with the digging. 

Not one word was spoken by any of the party 
in this the supreme moment of their lives. All their 
labours, all their seafaring, all their dreams, all 
their future centred and balanced on this spit of 
river bank, on this form digging, literally, for for- 
tune under the light of the great calm, tropical 
moon. 


THEY START TO DIG 


153 

Macquart, standing with his arms folded, seemed 
the genius of the scene. 

Then Hull flung down the spade, exhausted, and 
Houghton took it up. After him Macquart. 

Three hours of superhuman labour produced 
an enormous cavity wide and yawning to the moon, 
but not a sign of what they sought. 

Macquart had stated that the cache was covered 
by only three feet of earth. The hole was five 
feet deep and more, yet it shewed nothing. 

They sat down on the edge of it. 

“Well,” said Hull, to Macquart, “what are we 
to make of this? Where’s your cache?” 

Macquart said nothing for a moment, then he 
spoke : 

“It was here; it is here. The trees being gone, 
I can’t get the exact measurements between trunk 
and trunk; I’ve figured it out to the best of my abil- 
ity. All I can say is that it is here on this spit of 
shore, and we must go on digging till we find it.” 

“I can’t dig any more to-night,” said Tillman. 
“I’m broke.” 

“So am I,” said Houghton. “It’s beastly, but 
the only thing for us to do is to knock off and start 
again to-morrow night. I’m going to dig the whole 
of this spit up before I stop.” Then turning to 
Macquart: “Are you sure this is the place? Maybe 
•you have been mistaken; there may be another spit 
like this with the trees growing as you said.” 

“I tell you, I am sure,” replied the other. “The 
distance from the village is correct. It was here 
the stuff was buried and, unless it was taken away, 


154 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


it is here still. And it cannot have been taken away. 
No one knew of it.” 

“Well,” said Hull, rising up, “there’s no manner 
of use talking, we’ve got to dig, and if the stuff don’t 
turn up, b’gosh, I’ll brain you, Mac! I feel that 
way.” 

“There’s no use in talking like that,” said Till- 
man gloomily. “Macquart is in the swim along 
with the rest of us, and if the stuff doesn’t turn 
up, it hits him as well as us. Deuce take it, I feel 
as flat as ditch-water, but there’s no use grum- 
bling.” 

He picked up the mattock, and Hull taking the 
pick, they turned from the spit and walked back 
along the bank. 

It was only now that the gold they were hunting 
for began to cry out to them with a full voice ; only 
now that they began to perceive fully the awful 
difference between returning to Sydney empty-handed 
and returning with a fortune. 

To each man the appeal was different. 

To Houghton, the finding of the cache would 
mean success in a life that had been hitherto a fail- 
ure, salvation from the mean things and the mean 
ways of existence, and all the difference between a 
man of power and a nobody. 

To Tillman, success would bring the things he 
wanted, and he wanted a lot, from limitless clothes 
to a five-hundred-ton sailing yacht. 

Hull wanted money; he had no plans, he just 
wanted money, craved for it as a sailor for cab- 
bages or a child for sweets. 


THEY START TO DIG 


155 


Macquart — ah! who can tell what Macquart 
wanted in this world? Many things, no doubt, even 
beyond what money could supply. 

Back at the tent, Hull, Houghton and Tillman 
turned in, whilst Macquart and Jacky went off to 
the boat. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE SCORPION AND THE CENTIPEDE 
HEY were a rather gloomy party at breakfast 



-*• next morning. Not one of them spoke of the 
events of the night before, and even Hull’s enor- 
mous appetite seemed affected. 

After the meal, Houghton led Tillman off for 
a stroll. The morning sun was shining through 
the trees, and the village folk were all off after 
rubber; they passed the village and just beyond, on 
the dense border of the forest, Houghton sat down 
on a fallen log, filled his pipe and lit it. He seemed 
to have something on his mind. Tillman sat down 
beside him and began to smoke also. 

“Look here,” said Houghton at last, “I’ve been 
thinking.” 

“Yes?” 

“Macquart’s not running straight.” 

“How do you mean?” 

“He’s bamboozling us.” 

“Over the cache?” 

“Yes. The stuff’s not buried there and never 
was. The Terschelling was never fetched up as 
far as this and never sunk here. That was her we 


saw in the lagoon.” 
“Which?” 


156 


SCORPION AND CENTIPEDE 157 

“That old burnt ship we saw in the lagoon. Lant 
got all his men into the fo’c’sle and then set a light 
to her. I’m positive.” 

“Good God!” said Tillman. “What are you 
saying?” 

“I’m saying what I think. Let’s reason it out. 
Lant stole the Terschelling and her cargo of gold. 
He knew the river, he knew the people, he was cer- 
tain of a safe refuge here. But he did not want any 
one, of course, to know about the treasure, not even 
the people here. Why should he have brought the 
Terschelling up this distance? No, he put her into 
the lagoon, he made the crew cache the treasure 
there, then got them aboard and did for them. He 
had to keep one man to help in the business and 
to help him to come up here in a boat. That man 
was Macquart.” 

“Go on,” said Tillman, whose pipe had gone out. 

“He came up here with Macquart and married 
a native woman; that gave him a position and made 
him one of the tribe. Macquart saw him settling 
down, saw no chance of profiting and did for him. 
Then Lant’s wife suspected, and Macquart had to 
shin out.” 

“Wait a moment,” said Tillman. “Macquart 
told us that as having happened to a man named 
Smith. Well, haven’t you seen that for the last 
long time Macquart has not been even trying to 
keep up the Smith fiction? He has all but acknowl- 
edged that he was Smith. Now, if he were a mur- 
derer, would he act like that?” 

“To begin with,” said Houghton, “there was 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


158 

never any evidence of the crime, and it happened 
fifteen years ago. Macquart is absolutely safe. 
Again, he is not an ordinary man; he seems the most 
absolutely cynical and cold-blooded devil I have ever 
met. I have been watching him closely. He doesn’t 
bother about hiding anything the law can’t catch 
him for. He doesn’t boast of his crimes, but he 
doesn’t bother.” 

“Wait a moment,” said Tillman. “Now see 
here. If that was the Terschelling we saw in the 
lagoon, and if the stuff is cached near there, why on 
earth did Macquart bring us up here? This place 
is a dangerous place for him. Lant’s wife is still 
alive, and if she recognised him, she’d be sure to 
try and work him mischief.” 

“Did I not say that Macquart’s object was to 
diddle us over the cache?” said Houghton. “He has 
brought us up here so that he may play us some 
beastly trick, of that I’m certain. It may be that 
he plans to steal off some night, slip down the river, 
load up the Barracuda and make off. He’s very 
thick with Jacky; he understands Jacky’s lingo, and 
I’m not so sure of Jacky’s being straight; these black 
fellows most of them, from what I’ve heard, aren’t 
to be depended on much.” 

“He might do that,” said Tillman, “but I doubt 
if he would be able to get the Barracuda away with 
only Jacky to help.” 

“Oh, yes he would. Two men could do a lot 
with a boat of that size. Look at Slocum — went 
round the world by himself. Macquart would make 
for Macassar or somewhere close.” 


SCORPION AND CENTIPEDE 


159 


“There are two things that knock your idea on 
the head,” said Tillman. “The first is Macquart 
and Jacky would never be able to transport all that 
gold from the cache to the Barracuda before we 
were on top of them — they could only get a five 
or six hours’ start at the most; the second is, that 
without Screed’s help, Macquart would never be 
able to dispose of it.” 

Houghton laughed. “I’ve been thinking the 
whole of this thing out,” said he, “and I can answer 
that. Screed was a fool; we were all fools. Mac- 
quart, if he wanted to play us false, would not 
want to take all the stuff in the cache, a couple of 
thousand would do. With that he’d sail off to 
Macassar or somewhere else, settle, make a little 
position for himself and then, when he had a house 
and a banking account, he’d come back for the rest 
of the stuff — maybe a year from now — it’s quite 
simple.” 

“Good God!” said Tillman suddenly. 

“What?” 

“Macquart and Jacky slept in the boat last night, 
and we in the tent.” 

“Yes,” said Houghton, “that was the thing that 
started me off thinking last night just as I lay down. 
I thought to myself how easy it would be for those 
two to slip off. You will remember it was Mac- 
quart who suggested that he and Jacky should take 
the boat, as the tent was too small for the four 
of us.” 

Tillman said nothing for a moment. He seemed 


160 THE GOLD TRAIL 

reviewing the whole matter carefully. Then he 
spoke. 

“We’ve got to consult at once with Hull,” said 
he, “over this.” 

“For goodness’ sake, no,” replied Houghton. 
“If you put Hull on to this business, you will ruin 
everything.” 

“How?” 

“Because Hull would be in this matter like a bull 
in a china shop. He hates Macquart, just as Mac- 
quart hates him. I honestly believe that Macquart 
is tricking us in this matter, not so much that he 
may collar all the stuff for himself, as that he may 
get even with Hull. However that may be, Hull, 
if he knew what we are thinking, would go on so 
that Macquart would be on his guard. We want to 
appear a particularly soft lot of fools, so that we 
may take him off his guard and get to know what 
his plans are. 

“He knows where the stuff is cached and we want 
to get at that knowledge. He will never tell us 
of his own accord, for that would be to enrich Hull; 
besides, it would be contrary to the man’s real na- 
ture. It would be agony to Macquart to share up 
and be honest over a huge sum of money like this. 
He is a fox-man, or, rather, a wolf-man. Well, we 
must turn ourselves into foxes or wolves if we 
want to share the prey.” 

One of the properties of Adventure is the power 
that it possesses for the development of character. 

This expedition was already bringing forth the 
true mental properties of the adventurers with as- 


SCORPION AND CENTIPEDE 161 


tonishing results. Tillman, for instance, who had 
always seemed a butterfly under the false conditions 
of Sydney life, was exhibiting qualities of balance 
and energy that would have astonished his friends; 
and Houghton, brought to the test, was shewing a 
clearness of vision and a power of reasoning upon 
obvious facts that he had never exhibited fully 
before. 

The power to reason clearly and justly on the 
obvious facts before us is a power denied to very 
many; it constitutes the soul of business and suc- 
cess in life. It was the secret of Napoleon’s great- 
ness, and it has been found wanting in many and 
many a philosopher. 

“Well,” said Tillman, “perhaps you are right. 
Hull’s a blundering sort of chap, and there’s no 
doubt he hates Macquart as much as Macquart 
hates him. We’d better lay low, we two, and we’ve 
got to watch this chap as a cat watches a mouse. 
I’ll watch the boat to-night. There’s a lot of bushes 
on the bank, I can hide there with a Winchester, 
and you can watch to-morrow night: we mustn’t 
leave him a second alone. I’ll go off now and see 
what he’s doing.” 

He rose up and went off, leaving Houghton still 
seated on the fallen tree. 

So deep was he in meditation that he did not 
hear a light step behind him. It was the girl of 
yesterday; she was coming along the path that led 
from the Dyak village to the waterside. As she 
drew up to the seated figure, she paused, stared, and 
sprang towards him. 


1 62 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


The next moment the astonished Houghton found 
himself dragged by the arm off the log, and stand- 
ing face to face with Chaya. 

Without a word, the girl pointed to the log on 
which he had been seated, and Houghton saw an 
object that made his flesh crawl upon him. 

It was the great scorpion of New Guinea, by far 
the most monstrous creation of the Tropics. It 
was almost the size of a grown man’s hand, almost 
the colour of the dark wood on which it crawled, 
and as Houghton looked at it, he saw the tail with 
its terrible terminal nippers curl up and then flatten 
out again, and the whole body of the reptile move 
forward in its steady progress along the path it had 
chosen for itself. 

Had he placed his hand upon it or pressed his 
leg against it, he would have died as surely as though 
a pistol had been fired at his head point-blank, for 
the bite of the great New Guinea scorpion not only 
kills, but kills in a most horrible way, and there 
is no antidote to the poison. 

Houghton at once on the sight of the thing 
stooped down and picked up a piece of stick for 
the purpose of killing it, but again Chaya’s hand 
fell upon his arm, this time restraining him. She 
was pointing at the tropical leaves that half cov- 
ered one end of the log. Something was coming 
from among them. It was a centipede. A centi- 
pede eleven inches in length, ash grey changing to 
green, and orange where the thousand tiny legs 
moved in hideous vibration and with such rapidity 


SCORPION AND CENTIPEDE 163 

that they shewed only as a narrow band of orange- 
coloured mist. 

Above and around were the tropical leaves; a 
bird like a puff of sapphire dust flew from the sun- 
light through the gloom of the branches, and over 
the battle that now ensued swung a sagging loop 
of liana, coloured like an old rope, except at one 
point, where from it blazed an orchid. 

The centipede attacked. Making use of the in- 
equalities of the bark, it covered the distance be- 
tween itself and the enemy in three movements and 
with such cunning that the scorpion, who had per- 
ceived its antagonist from the first, seemed unde- 
cided and not to know from what point the attack 
was coming. There is nothing on earth more skilled 
in the art of taking cover than the centipede, more 
astute, more furtive. 

Then in a flash, the battle was joined and the 
centipede was running over the back of the scor- 
pion like a narrow ash-grey river. The claws of 
the scorpion sought for it and the pincered tail was 
flung back to seize it, but the river charging and 
shifting eluded all these attempts; it seemed as 
though the centipede possessed an eye to match 
every foot. In the fury of the fight the combatants 
tumbled off the log and, tangled together, the bat- 
tle went on amidst the leaves on the ground with a 
fury that made Houghton almost feel ill. 

Chaya, taking the piece of stick from Houghton, 
pushed the leaves aside arid disclosed the end of 
the fight. The scorpion was tearing the centipede 
to pieces with its lobster claws, but its victory 


164 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


brought its death. It had been mortally stung, 
the claws flung themselves up once or twice, the tail 
curved backwards for the last time, fell, and even 
as it fell the body of the thing was covered by 
rushing ants. 

A great butterfly, sea-coloured and luminous, flit- 
ted across the log, and Houghton turned his eyes 
to Chaya. She was half laughing, the pupils of 
her dark eyes were dilated as if with the excitement 
of the battle they had just witnessed. She seemed 
the incarnation of the spirit of this land, where the 
flowers burgeoned in a night, where Love and Hate 
grew swift as the convolvulus that grows even as 
one watches it, where Beauty and Terror walk hand 
in hand with Destruction. 

“Dead,” said Chaya. 

“You saved me,” said Houghton. 

He took both her hands in his. She had been 
in his thoughts ever since their eyes had met on the 
day before, and she knew it. 

Houghton stood out from his companions, not 
only on account of his good looks. He possessed a 
refinement they lacked. He was the only man of 
his type who, perhaps, had ever trod that soil. 

She laughed as he held her hands, laughed, look- 
ing right into his eyes, so that a fierce flame seemed 
to strike through him, filling him with the intoxica- 
tion of light and fire, the intoxication that one may 
fancy to seize the moth before it dashes into the 
lamp. 

Then he released her hands and the spell was 


SCORPION AND CENTIPEDE 165 

taken off him, but none the less his fate was sealed. 
She sat down on the log and he sat beside her. 

“You come from far away?” said Chaya, in that 
English which the traders had taught her and which 
she spoke in a curious singing way, with a rising in- 
flection that was the last charm of language. 

“Yes, very far,” he replied; “all the way from 
England.” 

“All the way from England,” said she, repeating 
the words as though they did not interest her much, 
or as though they had little meaning for her. 

“Yes — and I know who you are. You are 
Chaya.” 

“How know you that?” 

“Wiart, the white man, told me.” 

“Ugh!” said Chaya. 

Criticism could go no further in conciseness, and 
Houghton, looking sideways at his delicious com- 
panion, saw that her head was tilted slightly back, 
and it came into his mind for the first time that the 
old expression, “turning up one’s nose,” does not 
refer to the nose at all, but to the position of the 
head. And what a lovely head it was that taught 
him the fact, cut surely and sharply as the head upon 
a cameo, with night-black hair drawn backwards and 
fixed in a simple knot, without any adornment but 
its own beauty. 

The arm close to him was bare, and the loosely 
worn robe exposed just a glimpse of her side and 
the fact that she wore the brass corsets used by the 
Dyak women of some tribes; the hand that still 
held the stick shewed no sign of hard work, small, 


1 66 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


yet capable-looking, supple and subtle, with the 
finger-nails polished like agate, it fascinated Hough- 
ton. He longed to clasp it and hold it. 

Chaya’s colour was a new form of beauty in it- 
self, derived from the fact that it was the blended 
colour-beauty of two races, the European and the 
Dyak; but her eyes shewed nothing of Europe in 
their depths, they were the eyes of the Saribas 
woman and filled with the mystery of the forests 
and the sea. 

“You do not like Wiart?” 

Chaya, instead of replying, sought amidst the 
leaves with the point of the stick, discovered what 
was left of the centipede and held it up on the 
stick end. 

It looked like a string made of faded green paper. 

She laughed as she held it up in answer to his 
question. 

“It’s about as ugly as he,” said Houghton. 
“Chaya, where do you live? I know it’s some- 
where close here; but where?” 

Chaya waved her arm all round, as if to indicate 
that she inhabited the whole forest, a delicate and 
humorous evasion of the question that seemed to 
hint: “We are getting on very well, but not quite so 
fast as all that.” 

Houghton smiled and bit his lip. He wanted 
nothing more but just to sit here beside her. Never 
in his life again would he feel just the same thrill 
and intoxication as he experienced now, in the first 
moments of his new existence, sitting by this half- 
mute, half-laughing companion. 


SCORPION AND CENTIPEDE 167 

She had dropped the remnants of the centipede 
and she was swinging the stick now, leaning forward 
as she sat with her elbows on her knees and the stick 
between her fingers. 

She seemed musing on something. 

As she sat like this, two butterflies, desperately 
in love with one another, passed flitting one above 
the other. She followed them with her eyes, and 
as she turned her head to watch them vanish in 
the gloom of the trees, her eyes met his and the 
call in them went straight to his soul. Maddened, 
scarcely knowing what he was doing, he stretched 
out his arms to seize her, but she evaded him like 
a ghost. Then she was gone. 

He stood looking at the swaying leaves where 
she had vanished, swallowed up by the same gloom 
that had taken the butterflies, then his eyes fell to 
the ground where the stick she had held was lying, 
and the remnants of the scorpion and the centipede, 
whose battle to the death was to form the first chap- 
ter in one of the strangest love stories of the tropics. 


CHAPTER XVII 


SAJI 

T HE Dyak village, situated about a quarter of a 
mile from the Papuan village, constituted 
only a miserable remnant of what it had once been. 
There were scarcely forty members of the tribe 
that ages ago had come here from Borneo. Saribas 
Dyaks, sea plunderers and fishermen, who had found 
the river and fixed themselves here, well sheltered 
from pursuit of enemies, yet within touching distance 
of the sea. 

Even in the days when John Lant had come here 
and settled down, marrying the mother of Chaya, 
the tribe had been in decadence. 

When Lant died his wife had been chief woman 
of the tribe. She was still. 

The mother of Chaya was a full-blooded Saribas 
woman, with all the instincts, all the pertinacity, all 
the ferocity, all the tenacity of her race. 

She was not an old woman in years, but she was 
old in appearance, with a far-seeing and fateful look 
in her face that was daunting. 

Her husband, whom she had loved, had been 
murdered. The murderer had done his work so 
skilfully that in a civilised community no suspi- 
cion would have been attached to him and no proc- 
168 


SAJI 169 

ess of law could have been put in operation against 
him. 

But the mother of Chaya knew that the father 
of her child had been murdered and, though the 
murderer had escaped her and made good his es- 
cape, she knew that he would come back. 

Even civilised people have “feelings” that amount 
to sure knowledge. Chaya’s mother, with an in- 
herited instinct for men and events preternaturally 
developed, had the sure feeling that the murderer 
would return. 

On an everyday basis that event might have been 
predicted, for he had gone without the gold for 
which the crime had been committed. Chaya’s 
mother did not know where the gold was buried, 
she only knew that it was somewhere in the vi- 
cinity of the river; the man would come back to 
the river and for fifteen years she had waited. 

The fishing Dyaks of the tribe — there were no 
pirates now — had always been on the watch to give 
her news of strangers arriving. It was part of 
their business in life and had turned into a sort 
of religious observance. 

The Barracuda had been observed even before 
she had engaged the reefs, and Saji, one of the 
youngest of the fishermen, had tracked her up to 
the lagoon. Hiding his canoe, he had observed 
everything to do with her berthing in the lagoon, 
and then, when Macquart and his companions had 
taken the boat and come up to the village, Saji had 
followed. It was his canoe that they had found 


170 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


tied up to the landing stage when they came out 
of Wiart’s house. 

Saji had obeyed not only his orders and his own 
natural tracking instincts, but the desire to please 
the chief woman of the tribe. 

Saji was in love with Chaya. 

The tribe had fallen into that condition which 
scarcely allows for grades of rank; Saji as one of 
the best fishermen, though he had no special rank 
or standing, was as likely a suitor for Chaya as 
any of the others. He was eighteen years of age, 
straight as a dart, well-formed, and even to a Euro- 
pean eye not bad-looking, but he was a pure-blooded 
Saribas, his dress was little more than an apron, 
and in the eyes of Chaya he did not exist as a 
man. 

The white traders had shewn her the edge of 
civilisation and her instincts inherited from John 
Lant raised her above the level of the tribe. To 
complete the matter, Saji had let her perceive the 
nature of his feelings towards her. Besides being 
a good fisherman, he was a skilful metal worker, 
and he had only a month ago constructed a bangle 
of copper, beating it out from a copper rod with 
infinite pains and care; taking his courage in one 
hand and the bangle in the other, he had approached 
Chaya with the gift — and she had refused it. 

“Give it to Maidan,” she had said. 

Maidan was one of the tribe girls and the least 
good-looking of them. 

Though disdaining him as a lover, Chaya did not 
shew any dislike for him; she allowed him to ac- 


Ill 


SAJI 

company her in the woods and it was his half-naked 
form they had glimpsed the day before amidst the 
leaves. He had led her to shew her the strangers 
just as an hour before he had sought her mother 
to tell of the new arrivals. 

Last night, when the party were digging on the 
spit of river bank, Saji led the old woman to in- 
spect them. In the full moonlight, she had seen 
the face and form that her eyes had been aching 
to see for fifteen years. 

Revenge was at last in her grasp and, as they 
returned to the Dyak village after watching the 
fruitless work of the diggers, she said to Saji: 

“You shall have Chaya.” 

“Aie,” whined Saji as he trotted beside her — they 
were going full speed down the jungle path to the 
village — “but she cares naught for me.” 

“You shall have Chaya on the word of her 
mother, and the gift you will bring her will fetch 
her to your feet.” 

“What gift?” said Saji. 

“That I will tell you soon. You have each 
stranger clear in your mind so that you would know 
each even in the dark?” 

“Ay, I could tell each by his spoor or his smell.” 

“Then watch them all, but more especially the 
one I pointed out last — the others do not count.” 

They spoke in the Saribas dialect. 

At the village they parted, Saji returning to keep 
a watch on the newcomers even as they slept. 

That watch was never relaxed. 

Fortunately for Houghton, he was not the man 


172 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


specially pointed out to Saji as the man never to 
be lost sight of. Otherwise his meeting with Chaya 
might have been. observed with disastrous conse- 
quences to him. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


SOUNDINGS 

\XZ HEN Houghton got back to the tent he found 
Tillman waiting for him. Hull was down 
by the boat attending to some matter or other. 

“Macquart is in there in the house with Wiart,” 
said Tillman. “They seem to have chummed up 
very much. There they are smoking cigarettes and 
drinking gin and water.” 

“I don’t think Macquart is a man to drink much,” 
said Houghton. 

“No, he’s not, but there he is with that soaker. I 
wonder what they’re talking about. I went to the 
door and the smell of the place nearly knocked 
me down. Wiart asked me in, but I excused myself 
— said I had business to attend to.” 

“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything dangerous 
in it,” replied the other-. “Wiart has his business 
here to attend to and, between that and drink, his 
hands are pretty full.” 

As a matter of fact, Houghton’s mind was so 
filled by Chaya that he did not want for the moment 
to think of anything else. 

Had he frightened or offended her? He could 
not tell, but he cursed himself for his precipitancy 
and stupidity. He went down to the landing-stage 
i73 


174 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


and sat watching Hull, who had bailed some water 
into the boat to prevent the seams opening and 
who was now engaged in overhauling some of the 
gear. But he did not see Hull. He was looking 
at the mental image of Chaya, listening to her 
voice. 

One of the fascinating things about her was the 
manner in which she used gestures and pantomime 
to express her meaning. He was beginning to un- 
derstand the great fact that, whereas Love in many 
cases is the child of long acquaintance, in others it 
is born instantaneously and is the child of First 
Sight. There are natures that fly together at first 
approach just as the elements of some chemical 
compounds fly together. 

It seemed to him that he had been wanting Chaya 
all his life and that she had been waiting for him 
in these mysterious forests of which he had never 
dreamed, of whose existence he had been absolutely 
ignorant. 

He was deeply disturbed not really because of 
the idea that he might have given her offence, for 
some instinct told him this was not so, but because 
of the general situation. ^ 

First, there was his own property. How, even 
if she loved him, could he ever take Chaya away 
from here? He had no trade, no resources, the ex- 
pedition seemed to be turning out the wildest of 
wild-goose chases. How, even supposing that he 
could get away with her, could he ever take her 
to Sydney beggared as he was in the goods of 
the world? To remain here with her was an im- 


SOUNDINGS 


175 

possible thought. To live here, even with Chaya, 
would not be to live but to die to the world. 

The place lay heavy on his soul, filled him with 
a vague terror; the languorous, heat-laden atmos- 
phere, the very forms of the trees, the sluggish, oily- 
flowing river, the very superabundance of life and 
of life in its most terrible forms, all these had cre- 
ated around him that vague atmosphere of night- 
mare that the tropics can alone create. 

Then, even supposing that the cache really ex- 
isted, there was Macquart and his threatened 
treachery. 

Macquart was a terrible man. He was begin- 
ning to recognise that fact even more fully now. A 
man who worked always for some hidden purpose 
and always underground. A wolf that was yet a 
mole. It is only given to human nature to incorpo- 
rate in itself the properties of diverse animal na- 
tures, and sometimes this gift produces most strange 
monstrosities. He remembered that morning of his 
first meeting with Macquart in the Domain of Syd- 
ney; even at that first meeting something predatory 
in the make-up of his new acquaintance had struck 
him. Since then, and by slow degrees, the nature of 
the man had been half shewing itself, and the evi- 
dence against him accumulating. Houghton had 
been keen enough about the object of the expedition 
all through, but now he was doubly keen; it was 
not only the gold that was at stake, but Chaya. And 
he could do nothing but wait, nothing could be done 
to hurry matters. 

Houghton’s keen psychological sense had given 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


176 

him some glimpse of the extraordinary mentality of 
the man upon whom everything depended. He 
guessed in Macquart some of those qualities that 
go to form the foundation of madness. Not that 
Macquart was mad in the least, never was there a 
man more coldly sane, but it seemed evident to 
Houghton that here was a man who would destroy 
everything, even his own chance of success, rather 
than allow success to a man he hated. 

And Macquart hated Hull with an ungodly 
hatred. To Houghton, now, it seemed clearly dem- 
onstrated that Macquart’ s original plan was to bring 
the Barracuda into the lagoon where without doubt 
the treasure was cached, and not to come up here 
to the village at all. Macquart had meant to run 
straight, at least, till the gold was on board the 
Barracuda; after that, who knows what he might 
have done, but he would at least have used his com- 
panions for the purpose of shipping the treasure. 

The advent of Hull changed all this, and the way 
in which Hull had managed to arm himself and his 
companions whilst disarming Macquart. 

Finding his plans destroyed and his enemy on top 
of him, Macquart had evolved new plans which 
were now in progress. 

What were these plans? 

It was impossible as yet to predict. It was only 
possible to say that, to gain time for some purpose, 
Macquart would keep them digging every night at 
the place where there was nothing to be found. 

The hopeful part of the situation was embraced 
by the fact that he knew nothing of their suspi- 


SOUNDINGS 


177 

cions, and the only plan of campaign for the pres- 
ent was to give him a free rein. 

Hull presently relinquished his work on the boat 
and came up and sat down beside Houghton, com- 
plaining of the heat. 

“Where’s Mac?” said he. 

“He’s in there in the house smoking and talk- 
ing to Wiart,” replied Houghton. 

The Captain lit a pipe. 

“I don’t know what’s in me when I’m near that 
swab,” said he. “I always want to lay him out. I 
do so. He raises my gizzard. Now, mind you, he 
played me a low-down, dirty trick that time fower 
years ago, but it’s not that makes me want to flat- 
ten his head in with a shovel — it’s himself. My 
Gawd, sometimes I feel I could let up on the whole 
of this show just for the sake of givin’ that mud 
turtle a rap on the shell that’d finish him. Funny, 
ain’t it?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Houghton. “I feel 
pretty much as you feel, sometimes, but he’s the 
goose that lays the golden egg and it’s better not 
to think of him.” 

“That’s what I can’t help,” said the Captain. “I 
believe the chap’s bamboozling us.” 

“Oh, nonsense,” said Houghton, alarmed at the 
idea that Hull was sniffing at the truth and at the 
idea of the possible consequences. “Why should 
he let us down over the business? He has just 
as big a stake in it as we have, and he’s no use 
without us.” 

“I don’t know why he should,” replied the other, 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


178 

“but them’s my feelings. We ought to have struck 
the stuff last night, we sure ought to if it’s there. 
If we don’t strike the stuff, well, all I’ve to say is 
it’s Mac that’ll be struck and struck hard. You’ll 
see.” 

“Look here,” said Houghton, “promise me one 
thing: promise me to say nothing to him ever that 
will make him think you suspect him without first 
consulting with me and Tillman. This is a serious 
matter, Captain, and supposing for a moment he is 
bamboozling us — which doesn’t seem probable — we 
must act accordingly and all together to find out 
his plans.” 

“Oh, I won’t say anything,” replied the other, 
“or I’ll have a talk with you two before I do. You 
tell me one thing. If the stuff was cached on that 
bit of bank, the ship it was took from, if they sank 
her, would be layin’ close by. The river is only 
three fathom deep off the stage — I’ve took sound- 
ings — I don’t believe it’s much deeper up there, so 
they’d have sunk her in only eighteen foot of wa- 
ter. Why, she’d draw most that.” 

“She would,” replied Houghton. 

“Let’s go and take soundings off the bank up 
there,” said the Captain. “It’ll be something to 
do.” He went to the boat and fetched the sounding 
lead, and they left the stage and walked along the 
river bank up stream till they reached the spot. 

The Captain looked at their excavation work of 
last night. 

“It’s lonesome enough to work by day up here 
without nobody knowing,” he said, “only maybe that 


SOUNDINGS 


179 


blighter of a Wiart might see us goin’ and sus- 
pect. I reckon perhaps Mac’s right — unless he’s 
foolin’ us.” 

He made a cast with the lead from the bank 
edge of the base of the spit; it shewed two and half 
fathoms or thereabouts, then he went to the apex of 
the spit. The depth here was nothing, till one got 
well away from the bank. 

“I’d have to bring the boat up to get correct 
soundin’s,” said Hull, “but what we’ve got will do. 
You see for yourself. There ain’t anywhere just 
here a vessel could be moored to and sunk at her 
moorin’s, and that was the way of it, accordin’ 
to Mac.” 

“You’re right,” said Houghton. “The only thing 
one can suppose is that the river has altered in 
the course of fifteen years.” 

"I don’t see what’s to alter it,” said the Cap- 
tain, looking at the river. “No, sir; unless there’s 
some deep pool near here we don’t know nothing 
of, that ship was never moored to no bank of this 
river.” 

It seemed astounding to Houghton that Hull 
should not have thought of the lagoon and should 
not have connected the idea of the old burnt ship 
in the lagoon with the Terschelling, but a moment’s 
reflection told him that Hull had not seen the burnt 
ship as they saw it, and also reminded him of the 
fact that the human intellect works in very narrow 
circuits. Hull’s mind was held by Macquart’s story 
to the village and this bit of bank; he was utterly 
lacking in imagination and the lagoon away down 


i8o 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


the river never once occurred to him as the “deep 
pool” where the bones of the Terschelling might be 
lying. 

They turned from the spit and made back through 
the trees towards the tent, and they had scarcely 
gone a hundred yards when something white moving 
amidst the tree boles drew Houghton’s attention. 

It was Chaya. 

She had not been following them, evidently, for 
she was coming towards them, though not in the 
line of their path. 

“There’s the gal we saw yesterday,” said Hull. 

Houghton’s heart sprang alive in him like a 
struggling bird. 

It was only a couple of hours ago that she had 
evaded him. He would soon know now if she were 
angry or not. 

She had a basket in her hand and was evidently 
going about some business or other, and she had 
seen him, he could tell that. But she did not alter 
her direction. She kept straight on, and passing 
them ten yards away she turned her head, caught 
Houghton’s gaze full, and smiled. 

He could only tell that she was not angry, that 
she was in fact quite friendly, but it seemed to 
him there was the faintest, faintest trace of mock- 
ery in that smile. The mockery of a child that has 
just escaped its would-be captor. 

Then she was gone. 

“She give you the glad eye,” said Hull. “She did 

shore Funny things them females are, she 

hadn’t no eyes for me. I never did hold with 


SOUNDINGS 


181 


wimmen folk and never took up with them much, 
excep’ maybe now and then when I’ve had more 
money in my pocket than wits in my head.” 

“You were never married, Cap’ — were you?” 
asked Houghton, asking the question more as some- 
thing to say to hide his jubilation than for any 
other reason. 

“Yes, I were,” replied Hull. “Took in by a 
female that used to live in James Street, ’Frisco, 
down by the Chiney docks. Westhouse her name 
was and she took in washin’. Ran a la’ndry. She 
weren’t more than twenty-five year old and she 
weighed near two hundred. I sighted her first 
when she was punchin’ a Chow in the eye. He was 
one of the la’ndry hands and he’d cheeked her and 
she let out and laid him flat. She was in a ragin’ 
tearin’ paddy and when I complimented her on her 
fist work she let out and nearly downed me, too. 
Never you go nigh an angry woman even to praise 
her, a woman in that state isn’t accountable, she 
wants somethin’ to hit and she’ll hit anythin’ in 
sight. I didn’t care. I on’y laffed and then she be- 
gan to laff too, and we went and had a drink, and 
that day week w r e were spliced, and she were makin’ 
all of a hundred dollars a week clear profit. 

“I reckoned to give up the sea and live on the 
profits, but she didn’t. Oh, Lord, no ! she reckoned 
to make a la’ndry hand of me and spend my wages 
on booze. She drank dreadful, but the drink didn't 
bust out in her till after the weddin’. She kep’ on 
celebratin’ the occasion, so to speak, till the la’ndry 
began to turn itself from a la’ndry to a stack of 


i 82 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


empty bottles. Then I let go all holts and took 
my hook, and when I came back to ’Frisco a year 
after, she was married to a Chink and the la’ndry 
was in full blast again, with the Chink doing the 
drinkin’ and she doin’ the workinh It’s my ’speri- 
ence when folks get married it’s either the man or 
the woman drinks, and the one that takes to drink 
the first and keeps at it consistent has the best time 
of it.” 

This unlovely story was only half heard by 
Houghton, whose thoughts were engaged on a more 
pleasant subject. 

When they got back to the tent they found Till- 
man talking to Macquart. 

Tillman was seated on the ground with his back 
to a tree, and Macquart was seated near him. The 
discussion, whatever it was, between the two, was 
being conducted with vigour to judge by the ges- 
tures of Macquart. 

“See here, you fellows!” cried Tillman as they 
approached. “Here’s something new.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE NEW MOVE 

W ELL,” said Hull, taking his seat on the 
ground near Tillman, “what’s up now?” 
“Everything,” said Tillman. “Ask Macquart.” 
“It’s not as bad as that,” said Macquart; “in 
fact, as far as I can see, things are looking better 
than they did when we knocked off work last night, 
but I’m beginning to have more than a suspicion 
that we have been done.” 

Houghton saw Hull’s big hand clench itself as 
it lay beside him on the ground. Fearing that the 
Captain might take up the question of Macquart, 
he moved close to him and managed to nudge him 
unseen by the others. 

“How do you mean?” he said. “Who has done 
us?” 

“The natives, I believe, and be to them,” said 

Macquart. “It’s this way. When we struck noth- 
ing last night, when, in fact, I saw that the mark- 
ing trees were gone, I began to suspect. I began 
to say to myself, can it be possible that the stuff 
has been removed? I thrashed the thing out in my 
own mind. I said to myself, fifteen years is a long 
while, can white men have been here and taken the 
stuff off? Then I saw at once, arguing from com- 
183 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


184 

mon sense, that — outside miracles — the thing could 
not be. No white man in the world had track of 
the position of the thing but me.” 

“Steady on,” said Hull, speaking despite the 
warning nudges of Houghton, “wasn’t you goin’ 
round the world huntin’ for a chap to put up money 
for this expedition? Why, God bless my soul, you 
told me about the thing fower years ago in ’Frisco. 
Well, if you told it to me, you told it to loads 
besides. How do you know that one of them chaps 
hasn’t been to the money box?” 

The enmity of Macquart towards the questioner 
shot out in his glance. 

“How do I know? I know because I wasn’t such 
a complicated fool as to give any man a hint that 
would bring him within two hundred miles of the 
thing. Have you any more questions to ask? Well, 
then. I said to myself last night, no white man has 
been here, but how about natives? The Papuans 
are out of court, they are too stupid. How about 
the Dyaks? They’re clever, they may have ferreted 
out the stuff, and if they did they’d know it belonged 
to John Lant and they’d maybe move it to some 
other place more safely hid than the river bank. 
They’re full up of superstitions, and if any bad 
luck had been happening to them or if they’d been 
unlucky at fishing or if one of their wise women 
had been dreaming things, they might have taken it 
as an indication, if they knew the stuff was there, 
to move it. Anyhow, those were my thoughts. 
Then to-day, when I was yarning with Wiart, I 
managed to hit on some news. Two years ago there 


THE NEW MOVE 185 

was a big disturbance here and the Dyaks stopped 
fishing for a week. They were desperately busy 
about something, carting mat baskets through the 
woods. Wiart was very busy just then with the 
rubber and he didn’t notice things much till towards 
the end of the pow-wow, when one day he was out 
prospecting in the forest and he came on the thing 
the Dyaks had been carting their baskets to. He 
followed one of the basket carriers to it, in fact. 
It was a sort of temple hut and he didn’t go further, 
for he didn’t want to be seen prying into their af- 
fairs. He never thought that the stuff those chaps 
were carting might be gold, he thought it was earth 
from the river-side and they had some religious 
reason for bringing it. He thinks so still. I haven’t 
said anything to make him think different. Well, I 
believe that’s where the stuff is. I believe they cut 
the marking trees down, though maybe the trees fell 
of their own accord. Anyhow, that’s the position, 
and Wiart knows where that hut place is in the 
forest; anyhow, he said he could go there quite 
easy.” 

“Well,” said Hull, “if he could, we’d better yank 
him out and make him lead us there.” 

“I believe there’s something in this,” said Hough- 
ton, with an air of conviction, “but we must go 
cautiously.” 

“There mayn’t be anything in it at all,” said Mac- 
quart; “it may be a wrong scent entirely, but it’s 
worth enquiring into.” 

“If it’s true, our difficulty will be this,” said Till- 
man. “If the Dyaks have hid the stuff, you may 


1 86 THE GOLD TRAIL 

be sure they’ll not let us take it off without a word 
or two.” 

“And how about our Winchesters?” cut in Hough- 
ton. “And our six-shooters? Seems to me the ar- 
gument on our side will be the strongest.” 

“If it comes to that,” said Macquart, “I’ll make 
the Dyaks do the hefting, I’ll make them carry that 
stuff right down to the Barracuda and not bother 
about the boat. And there’s another point, you 
three are armed, I’ve got nothing but my naked 
hands ; if we are to carry this thing through we must 
all be armed. I’ve got to have a six-shooter.” 

“That’s perfectly right,” said Houghton, “and 
you’ll have mine the moment we touch the stuff.” 

Macquart said nothing but began to fill a pipe, 
then he lit it. He seemed satisfied with Hough- 
ton’s promise; at least, his mind seemed to have 
travelled to some other subject. 

“We’d better go on digging to-night,” he said, 
“on the chance that some shock of earthquake may 
have deepened the stuff, though I don’t think that’s 
very probable. Anyhow, we’d better make plumb 
sure the cache is gone. I believe I’m right in sup- 
posing it is, but we can never be quite sure in this 
world. Then to-morrow I can fix it up with Wiart 
to take us to that place.” 

“Why not call the chap out now and let’s talk 
it over?” said Hull. 

“If you like,” said Macquart, “only I’d advise 
not. He suspects nothing of what we’re after and, 
if you leave it to me, he’ll go on not suspecting till 
we’re dabbling our hands in the yellow boys.” 


THE NEW MOVE 


187 

“You’re right,” said Houghton. “Hull, we’d bet- 
ter leave this thing to Macquart, he’s cleverer than 
the whole of us.” 

“Oh, I don’t pretend to be clever,” said the other. 
“I struck on the idea by chance and it was the 
merest chance that I sounded Wiart on the matter. 
That’s all there is to it.” 

“Well, let’s say nothing more till we’ve had an- 
other try to-night,” replied Houghton. “If we draw 
a blank, then to-morrow we can make arrangements 
with Wiart.” 

Half an hour later Tillman, taking Houghton for 
a stroll down to the landing-stage, broke silence. 

“Do you think Macquart is in earnest?” he 
asked. 

“Not a bit,” replied Houghton; “he’s cooking 
some dog’s trick to play on us. I believe he has 
roped that scamp of a Wiart into his scheme, as 
a cat’s-paw, of course. He intends to take us into 
the woods and do for us. Notice the way he made 
the bid for arms.” 

“Yes, and you promised him your revolver.” 

“When we touched the stuff. The stuff is not in 
the woods.” 

“W'ell, for Heaven’s sake, why should we go with 
him? I’m not a funk, but when we know or sus- 
pect he’s going to do for us, why not tackle him 
at once?” 

“If he was an ordinary scoundrel, I’d put my 
revolver to his head and threaten to shoot him if 
he didn’t show us where the cache was,” replied 
Houghton. “But he’s not. The threat wouldn’t 


1 8 8 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


have any effect on him simply because he’d rather be 
shot, I believe, than show that stuff to Hull. There’s 
the faint chance that this yarn may be true and that 
his plan is to get us to help move the stuff before 
doing us in, and there’s the chance that he may lead 
us into some trap. Now, if I could once convict 
him of that and escape the trap, then I’d make him 
show us the place we want even by torturing him, 
then it would be a question of hot blood. But we’ve 
convicted him of nothing and you can’t torture a 
man in cold blood — I can’t. So we’ll just have to 
lay low, not care a dump for danger and be ready 
to pounce.” 

“I’ll be ready to do the pouncing,” said Tillman, 
“if I get the chance.” 

After supper that night and just before moon- 
rise, they stole off again up stream to the spit. 

Four hours’ digging showed no result beyond a 
hole in which, to use Hull’s expression, they could 
have buried a church. Then, depressed but not 
dispirited, they returned to the tent. 

Hull and Houghton retired to rest, but Tillman, 
according to his arrangement with Houghton, 
slipped off armed with a Winchester to keep watch 
on the boat. 


CHAPTER XX 


A PICTURE IN THE FOREST 

TT was noon next day when Macquart, who had 
**■ been in the house with Wiart having a long 
talk, drew the others together for a consultation. 

He led them among the trees to a spot where a 
clearing had been made by Nature, a regular room 
of the woods roofed with blue sky and walled with 
the liquid shadow of foliage. Macquart took his 
seat on the trunk of a camphor tree long fallen, 
Tillman sat down beside him, whilst Hull and 
Houghton remained standing. 

“Well, IVe fixed it,” said Macquart. “He’s open 
to lead us to the place, not to-day because he has 
to look after the rubber chaps, it’s pay-day, but 
to-morrow.” 

“Will he be sober, think you?” asked Hull. 

“He’s off the drink. When we landed he was 
just at the end of a burst. He’ll be right enough 
now for a couple of months and then he’ll have 
another. He’s that sort.” 

“Well,” said Hull, “I guess you know more of 
the fellow’s clock-works than I do. I can’t stomach 
the blighter nohow. Them whiskers of his sticks 
in my gizzard. I never could abide whiskers on a 
man — them pork-chop style. If a man’s a man, let 
189 


190 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


him grow a full face of hair or stick to a moustache. 
Them sort of whiskers is unholy, and I don’t mind 
a drinkin’ man that takes his drink proper, but that 
chap don’t. He’s a last-night’s drunk goin’ about 
in trousers. By Jiminy, boys, if we don’t hit the 
cache, we’ll export him as an objec’ lesson. Them 
temp’rance guys would give a hundred thousand 
dollars for him to take round the States, they would 
so.” 

“Well, he’s our last chance,” said Macquart, “and 
I pin my faith to him, I do so. You mayn’t like 
him, but don’t say anything to rile him; he’s the 
key to this proposition.” 

“We won’t do anything to rile him,” said Till- 
man. “Where’s Houghton going?” 

Houghton had walked off and was away among 
the trees. 

“It’s that gal,” said the Captain; “she was peekin’ 
at us from the trees and he’s gone after her. She’s 
after him, too, or my name’s not Hull. We only 
wanted a cage of turtle doves to add to our top ham- 
per and, b’gosh, I believe we’ve got one.” 

Houghton had glimpsed her, a white glint among 
the trees. She had been looking at them. He knew 
quite well that, if he had not been of the party, she 
would not have been there. Forgetting the others 
and heedless of everything, he made towards her. 
Seeing him coming, she evaded him without taking 
flight, allowing herself to be glimpsed every now 
and then, and every now and then vanishing com- 
pletely from sight. 

This was the edge of the great and mysterious 


A PICTURE IN THE FOREST 19 1 

forest that throws its cloak far and wide over New 
Guinea. The trees just here were not very closely 
set, but swinging lianas tufted with growths and 
huge shrubs with foot-broad leaves gave ample cover 
for any one pursued. Not wishing to call out, half 
laughing, half vexed, hit in the face by leaves and 
clutched at now and then by thorns, he continued 
the pursuit till now where the trees were denser and 
the gloom more profound he stood lost and with- 
out sight of her, surrounded on all sides by a bar- 
rier that on all sides was the same. 

Parrots were crying in the tree-tops and the push 
of the wind against the foliage came as a deep 
sigh, the voice of leagues of trees sleeping and half 
disturbed in their sleep. 

Then came a scuttering in the branches up above, 
and a nut hit him on the shoulder and as he glanced 
up another nut caught him a sharp blow on the 
cheek. He was being pelted by little monkeys, 
swarms of little monkeys, skipping from branch to 
branch, hanging by their tails or by one hand. He 
was wiping his cheek when a laugh sounded almost 
at his elbow and, turning, he saw Chaya. She was 
pushing back the leaves that hid her to peep at him 
and before she could escape he caught her. 

He held her hands, and as he drew her towards 
him he felt as though he were drawing towards him 
the very soul of the mysterious forest, the very 
spirit of this tropical land, unknown and strange. 
She looked straight and deep into his eyes, and for 
a moment the prisoner and the captor changed 
places; then, breaking the spell, he released her 


192 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


hands to seize her to him, and he seized only air. 
She had eluded him again and he found himself 
face to face with nothing but swaying leaves. She 
had vanished as completely and suddenly as though 
the forest had snatched her from him. The forest 
that was her accomplice and of which she was the 
true child. 

He pushed the still swaying leaves aside, thought 
that he perceived a glimpse of her and pursued it 
to find — nothing. Then, after half an hour of fruit- 
less wandering, he broke into an open glade and 
found himself close to the Papuan village. There 
was a great commotion in the village, one of the 
rubber gatherers had been brought in. He was 
lying on the ground, turning from side to side, 
crying out and, to all appearances, delirious. 

As Houghton approached, the unfortunate man 
ceased his outcries, raised himself with a supreme 
effort nearly to his feet and then fell back. He 
was dead. The natives, seeing the white man, 
pointed to the corpse and seemed trying to explain 
matters. Then one of them shook something from 
a mat basket, pointed to it and to the corpse. The 
thing he had shaken from the basket was a scorpion, 
rather smaller than the one from which Chaya 
had saved Houghton. It had bitten the unfortu- 
nate man only half an hour ago and here lay the 
result. 

Houghton shivered at the thought of what he 
had escaped. It was like an object lesson of what 
this country held for the unwary, a picture of its 
dangers for all who tread the paths of life or love. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE GREAT THORN BUSH 

OAJI knew nothing of the meetings between 
^ Houghton and Chaya. Had he done so, 
Houghton’s story would have come to a very abrupt 
end. Saji was a being who moved entirely in 
blinkers with a more than vivid view of his imme- 
diate objective, but with great darkness on either 
side of him. So we might fancy the tiger to move 
through the jungle. 

Having received his commission to watch the 
strangers and especially Macquart, he fulfilled it to 
the letter. The reward of his obedience would be 
Chaya; that was sufficient to blind him to every- 
thing else but his work. 

Hull and his companions had found themselves 
unobserved and alone. The interest of the Papuans 
in them seemed to have died out and the Dyaks 
showed no evidence of their existence. In reality, 
the newcomers made scarcely a movement that was 
not noted. Saji, unseen, was always with them. 
He had followed them to the second digging at 
the spit, and he had lurked behind Wiart’s house 
listening to the conversation between Wiart and 
Macquart through a hole in the boarding of the 
wall. 


i93 


194 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


He knew very little English, but enough to make 
out that a new move was in progress, and that same 
night, coming back with his report through the for- 
est glowing green to the moon, he met the mother 
of Chaya and delivered his report. 

“They have done no digging to-night,” said Saji. 
“They are all now asleep, but they start to-morrow 
with the rubber man.” 

“Where?” 

“I do not know where, or for what. The rubber 
man and he whom you told me to watch have been 
with their heads together for a long time talking in 
one another’s ears. They mean no good to the 
others.” 

“How?” 

“I do not know, but I smell death in all their 
talk. I see that five will go away into the forest 
and only two return — the rubber man and the 
other.” 

The old woman said nothing for a moment. She 
seemed listening to the wind in the trees and the 
night sounds of the forest. 

In that vague green light, she seemed unutterably 
sinister and old, and Saji, his naked body glowing 
in the vague light, seemed the incarnation of the 
spirit of the Punan stabbing spear he carried. 

It was like a conference between Age and 
Destruction. 

Then she said: 

“You must follow them, even if they lead you 
to the Black Waters, and you must deal with the 
one you know at the very moment when you find 


THE GREAT THORN BUSH 195 

him alone. Should you fail to get him alone, you 
must deal with him in the presence of the others, 
even though you die. Do you promise?” 

“I swear.” 

Chaya came out from amidst the trees. She had 
been with the old woman and had left her before 
the meeting with Saji; then, looking back, she had 
seen the meeting and had returned to listen. Saji 
had been watching her all the time as she listened and 
the fervour of his words seemed derived from her 
presence. The old woman did not seem to notice 
her, nor to care whether she was listening or not. 

“At what time do they leave?” she asked. 

“I do not know,” said Saji. “But leave when 
they may, I will be with them, unseen.” 

Without a single word more the old woman 
turned and made for the village. 

Saji and Chaya found themselves alone. These 
two, despite the fact that Chaya was indifferent 
to him, as though he were a dog, had long been com- 
panions in the forest. It was Saji who had taught 
her to use a blow-pipe so that she could kill a mon- 
key or a bird at ten yards’ distance; he had taught 
her woodcraft from the time when they had been 
children together and she had once gone in the fish- 
ing prahu with him and had seen the sea break- 
ing on the reefs, and the trepang gatherers at their, 
work, and the great gulls fishing, the sailor broth- 
ers of the forest birds and as different from them 
as the foliage is from the waves. 

She had gone with him on his hunting expeditions 
in the forest. Saji was a great hunter of small game. 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


196 

He would have been equally great after big game 
had there been any to hunt, but here in these for- 
ests you might travel days without meeting any- 
thing more dangerous than the little monkeys and 
the climbing kangaroos. Occasionally, as though 
bursting in upon the last haunts of primitive man, 
the native hunters would open some glade to dis- 
cover the great monkey of Papua, more close to 
man than the gorilla, almost as big and infinitely 
more rare. But Saji had never encountered this 
brute, though once in a green glade he had seen 
it cross from tree edge to tree edge followed by 
a figure equally monstrous — its mate. 

“You are going hunting then?” said Chaya, in 
the sing-song voice to which the Saribas’ dialect 
inclines. 

“To-morrow,” said Saji, without raising his eyes, 
which he had lowered at her approach. 

“In the forest?” 

“In the forest.” 

“You have told me of the big man ape, but to- 
morrow you follow the little man ape, the one with 
the beard.” 

“There are two bearded man-apes in that party,” 
said Saji, falling into her vein. 

“But your game is the least,” said Chaya. “I 
know. He was the slayer of the white man who 
was my father. He must surely die.” 

“It has been said.” 

“But the others,” went on Chaya, “must not die.” 

“Who knows?” replied Saji. “The forest is very 
full of death, he will lead them to it. His pur- 


THE GREAT THORN BUSH 197 

pose is set more straight than a spear shaft, than 
the flight of an arrow.” 

“I will go with you and see this thing,” said 
Chaya. “It will be better to see than the killing 
of little monkeys with the blow-pipe or the trap- 
ping of fish in the nets. I will be with you at day- 
break and I will bring my spear.” 

Saji for the first time looked up at her. His 
eyes burned in the gloaming, then he glanced swiftly 
down. 

“As you will,” he said. 

Meanwhile the man in the tent and the man in 
the boat by the landing-stage and the man in the 
frame house slept. The whole complicated and 
intricate conspiracy, now vaguely shadowed forth, 
lay in balance, watched only by Saji hiding near 
the tent and Houghton who, to-night, had taken 
Tillman’s place and was hiding near the boat. 

Macquart, whose able mind was engaged on 
whatever plans he had made against his fellow- 
adventurers, had not the slightest fear of the past 
or suspicion that a hand was stretching out to feel 
for him. 

Macquart was in the position of a man who leaves 
a village, spends years of adventurous life in dis- 
tant countries, and returns fancying himself forgot- 
ten, forgetting the fact that memory lives long in 
quiet places and amongst small communities. 

With the exception of one or two of the fishing 
Dyaks, he had not seen a member of the tribe, and 
he slept now the sleep of the unjust, which is often 


198 THE GOLD TRAIL 

more peaceful and profound than the sleep of the 
just 

Saji, hiding near the tent, had not the slightest 
notion that Chaya, who was to accompany him on 
the morrow, had any interest in the expedition, ex- 
cept the interest of the killing there might be to 
see. Saji judged Chaya by himself, just as Mac- 
quart judged the memory of the tiny Dyak village 
by the memory of the great civilised cities. 

Hull, unconscious of everything, and Tillman, 
suspicious but tired, slept so that the sound of their 
snoring might have been heard by the two watchers, 
Saji by the tent and Houghton by the river. 

Then as the colour of the sky, the voice of the 
forest changed with the breaking dawn, and the 
river that had held the stars in reflection shewed 
to the increasing light ghost spirals of mist that 
clung to the mangroves with wreathy fingers. 

Then a golden glow came over the forest, and the 
sky above the green of the trees deepened in dis- 
tance and where the stars were but a moment ago 
there was now the blueness unutterable of the tropic 
dawn. 

Hull came out of the tent and stretched himself. 
Houghton had released himself half an hour ago 
from his duties as sentry and was engaged in shav- 
ing himself before a mirror fastened to the tent 
canvas, and now Jacky and Macquart shewed them- 
selves coming up from the river-side. 

Lastly Tillman made his appearance. 

“We’d better get breakfast and then set to work 
to pack the provisions,” said Hull. 


THE GREAT THORN BUSH 


199 


“We won’t want to take too much,” put in Mac- 
quart. “The expedition won’t last long and we 
can always shoot as much as we want for food.” 

“Maybe,” replied the other, “but I ain’t goin’ 
to trust to no roast monkeys for my grub. Here 
comes the sleepin’ beauty.” 

It was Wiart who had appeared on the verandah 
of his house. 

Wiart had improved very much in appearance 
since they first met him. He had been then at the 
end of one of his periodical drinking bouts and he 
would be all right now till the next attack. His 
face looked more healthy and more human, despite 
the whiskers that gave such great offence to Hull, 
and he had a rifle under his arm and a bandolier 
of cartridges slung across him. 

He came towards the party by the tent, for he 
was to breakfast with them. 

Hull stared at the coming figure with a frown on 
his face. 

“Hi,” said he, “what’s that? What are you 
doin’ with that gun and them ca’tridges?” 

“Doing,” said Wiart. “Nothing, carrying them.” 

“Well, then,” said Hull, “you’ll just oblige me 
by carryin’ them back and leavin’ them in the house ; 
this is a picnic, it ain’t no huntin’ party.” 

“But what are you talking about?” cried Wiart. 
“I always go armed in the woods.” 

“Not with me,” said Hull. “I’m meanin’ no of- 
fence, but I don’t go walkin’ with armed strangers 
in no woods. I’m as sure as certain you’re ar amia- 
ble man, but you’re a stranger to me, as the lady 


200 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


on the ’Frisco tram said to the gentleman whose 
foot was on hers. Now do you take me or do you 
don’t — my ultimatum is no armaments.” 

“Then you can go without me,” said Wiart, 
grounding the butt of the rifle and half turning 
away. 

“One moment, son,” said Hull. “I can not. 
You’ve contracted to lead this party and it’s up 
to you to finish the contrac’.” 

Whether he received some sign from Macquart, 
it is impossible to say, but the Rubber Man gave 
in suddenly and unconditionally on the point of 
arms, put the rifle and cartridges back in the house 
and sat down to breakfast. 

“I don’t blame you for being cautious,” said he, 
“though this seems caution run mad, if you’ll ex- 
cuse me for saying so, ’specially as the whole lot of 
you are armed. However, let it stand at that. I 
don’t mind.” 

He understated the case. This was much more 
than caution run mad; it was perhaps the most 
deadly insult that one white man could put on an- 
other in that place. Hull did not care in the least. 
If Wiart had attempted to back out of leading them 
he would, as he said, have taken him along by a 
halter. Instinct had warned him against Wiart. 
He knew absolutely nothing of the suspicions that 
filled the more cultivated and sensitive minds of his 
companions, but he did know that not on any account 
would he trust himself in lonely places with the 
Rubber Man if the latter were armed. There is no 
doubt that in his subconscious mind Hull had 


THE GREAT THORN BUSH 


201 


worked out the sinister possibilities of any collabo- 
ration between Macquart and Wiart, but he was un- 
conscious of the fact. 

When breakfast was over, they began to pack 
up the provisions, Hull supervising. 

“We don’t want no tent,” said he. “There ain’t 
no ’skeeters in the forest to speak of, and we can 
light a smoke fire to keep ’em off if there are. 
Jacky can carry the pick and shovel. Now then, if 
you’re ready, histe your bundles.” 

They streamed off, Wiart and Macquart leading, 
Jacky and Hull coming next, and Tillman and 
Houghton following. Wiart had a pocket compass, 
and Hull had another, though, as Wiart said, his 
knowledge of the road was so intimate that com- 
passes were unnecessary. 

They went down the glade past the Papuan vil- 
lage and struck into the trees where the glade 
ended. 

It was like passing into a house; the damar, 
cutch and camphor trees around them flung their 
branches to make the roof, a roof supported by a 
thousand pillars. 

Just as the outline of the Tartar tents can still 
be seen in the outline of the roofs of the Chinese 
pagodas, so in the pillars of the cathedral we can 
see a vague sketch of the Forest, that first home 
of man, and in the gloom of our cathedrals some 
tincture of the gloom of the great cathedral that 
God created for the first worshippers. 

The forests of the north have a solemnity all 
their own, and the forests of the tropics a mystery 


202 THE GOLD TRAIL 

incommunicable to those who have not experi- 
enced it. 

Here in the twilight that seems the twilight of 
the birth of things, vegetable life appears still cling- 
ing to its first and most extravagant forms. It 
moves. Like that convolvulus in the Botanical 
Gardens of Caracas that grows at the rate of an 
inch an hour, here, in the forests of New Guinea, the 
lianas lengthen themselves almost perceptibly, vines 
fight the trees and kill them, trees fall and crush 
the vines. The orchids are everywhere. They seem 
the furious attempt of the vegetable world to en- 
ter the kingdom of the birds and butterflies and 
insects. That bird clinging to that rope of liantasse 
is a flower, that butterfly is an illusion, that insect 
an orchid. 

That bursting crash is a tree that has been fall- 
ing for a year. The forest kills itself and re-cre- 
ates itself eternally; it is a community where the 
vegetable is king and where the vegetable wars with 
the animal and the insect, sets traps for flies and 
thorn entanglements for animals and mazes to be- 
wilder and destroy men. 

Houghton was alive to these impressions, Till- 
man less so. 

“I’ve fixed up with Hull,” said he, “to keep those 
two chaps always in front of us; they can’t do any 
harm then.” 

“I’m not afraid of them and their tricks, unless 
we find the cache,” said Houghton. “You see, while 
we are like this we can always guard against them, 
but should by any chance this lead of Macquart’s 


THE GREAT THORN BUSH 


203 


be a real one and we touch the stuff, then in the 
excitement of the business, when we aren’t thinking, 
they may get their blow in.” 

“You needn’t worry about that,” said Tillman. 
“This lead is a spoof. I’m dead sure of that. Mac 
has some black joke up his sleeve. D’you know, 
I’ve got to that condition now that the gold is 
less to me than the chance of doing Macquart in 
if we catch him playing tricks; that chap has got 
on my spine. God! how I’m beginning to hate 
him!” 

“I’m feeling like that,” replied the other. “It’s 
the strangest thing. At first I liked him, he seemed 
better than a fairy tale, and slowly I’ve got to feel 
like you. Yet he has never given me offence. Hull 
hated him all along, you see he knew him better, 
and, besides, he’s a chap that moves by instinct. 
Did you notice the down he’s taken on Wiart?” 

“You mean on his whiskers. Hull’s a rum chap, 
and somehow he’s hit the thing about Wiart that 
seems the bull’s-eye. A chap must be a beast to 
grow a pair of things like that on his face — lost 
to all sense of decency.” 

Houghton laughed and they said no more. 

The work was becoming heavy. They were cross- 
ing a boggy patch where tall nipah palms grew — 
the nipah palm loves the water — and their feet sank 
ankle deep at every step. 

Beyond lay clear ground except for barrier lianas 
sagging so low that sometimes they could be stepped 
over. 

Where the trees grew denser beyond this patch, 


204 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


the monkeys began to give them their attention. 
Swarms and swarms of little monkeys scurrying 
through the leaves above like a breeze, pursued 
them and circled them, pelting them with nuts and 
bits of stick and other ammunition, till Tillman, los- 
ing patience, raised his Winchester, sighted one, and 
brought it down. 

Then the brave bombardiers ceased their work, 
and the party pursued their way till at noon Hull 
called a halt in a clearing and they set to on the 
provisions. 

In cutting Hull out of their councils, Houghton 
and Tillman had made a mistake. They had con- 
sidered him too volcanic to trust with their sus- 
picions, they had forgotten that he had a mind 
of his own and that the working of that mind un- 
checked by them might be prejudicial to their plans. 

Hull, as he ate now, was thinking. The working 
of the jaws in mastication stimulates some brains, 
just as the contemplation of the ideal stimulates 
others. Hull, as he chewed his bully beef, began 
to think that he had never made full enquiries of 
Macquart as to the extent of Wiart’s knowledge of 
their real business or his compensation if they were 
successful. 

“Look here,” said he to Wiart, “you know, I 
s’pose, that you’re not takin’ us on this traverse for 
the sake of our health.” 

Wiart glanced at Macquart, who at once chipped 
in: 

“Oh, I’ve told Wiart we’re not hunting for that 
place the niggers carted the baskets to for nothing. 


THE GREAT THORN BUSH 205 

He’s quite ready to lend us his assistance without 
prodding too deep into our affairs.” 

“All the same,” said Hull, “I ’m a man that takes 
nothing from no man for nothing and, if we strike 
what we’re lookin’ for, I’m not goin’ to deny his 
dues to him who brought us to it.” 

“There’s no use in talking of that yet,” said 
Houghton hurriedly. 

“Oh, yes, there is,” said Hull. “It’s better to set- 
tle jobs like these right off at the start, then there’ll 
be no quarrelling at the finish, and if we hit what 
we’re lookin’ for, I’m up to give Mr. Wiart two 
hundred pound for his work in directin’ us. A man 
can’t say fairer than that.” 

Tillman, who was looking at Wiart, thought that 
he saw a momentary gleam of mockery in his 
eye. 

“Oh, that’s all right,” said he. “I’m not both- 
ering about rewards. I can see plain enough what 
you gentlemen are after, and I’ll not deny that I 
guessed it from Mr. Macquart’s questions and what 
he let fall. Well, if it’s treasure, then, and you 
strike it rich I’m not indisposed to take what you 
offer. I came on this expedition for the fun of the 
thing and to get away from that confounded rubber 
plantation for a day or two; that’s what riled me 
when you objected to my carrying a rifle. That’s 
maybe why you objected. You thought in your 
mind, this man may make trouble ” 

“Wait a bit,” cut in Hull, “I only put in my word 
against arms because I didn’t know you and be- 
cause you were a bit thick with Mac here. You’ll 


20 6 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


observe Mac doesn’t carry a gun. Mac and me has 
differences at times, don’t we, Mac? And I ob- 
jects to any chanst of us quarrellin’. Now if Mac’s 
friend had a gun, Mac might borrow it, mightn’t 
you, Mac?” 

Houghton jumped to his feet. 

“Come on,” he said. “There’s no use in sit- 
ting here talking. Let’s be doing.” 

He began to pack up the things, and the others, 
rising to their feet, helped him. Then they got 
under way in the same order of procession. 

At four o’clock they arrived at a part of the 
forest which goes by the native name of the Great 
Thorn Bush. 


CHAPTER XXII 


macquart’s third trick 

T T is the chief wonder of this part of the forests 
-*■ of New Guinea. Square miles upon square 
miles of Wait-a-Bit thorn, six feet in height, cut into 
a thousand intersecting roads and presenting a maze 
all the more intricate from the fact that the roads 
are sparsely occupied by trees. 

Where the thorn is there grows nothing but thorn, 
forming a terrible wall, impenetrable as a barbed- 
wire entanglement. 

“There’s a bad bit of stuff in front of us,” said 
Wiart, “but we can get through before sundown; 
the way through winds a bit, but I know the road 
and if I should miss it the compass will put us 
right.” 

“Heave ahead,” said Hull. 

Wiart, Macquart, and Jacky led the way, the 
others following. Hull had closed up with his two 
companions and, as they went along, Houghton pro- 
ceeded to take him to task for his indiscretions. 

“It was no good of you opening that question 
with Wiart,” said he. 

“What question?” asked Hull. 

“Good Lord! About the payment we’d give him. 

207 


208 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


Two hundred pounds — what’s two hundred pounds 
to the amount we’re expecting to find?” 

“And how’s he to know what we’re expectin’?” 
asked the other. “My idea was, if we nosed the 
stuff, to get rid of Don Whiskerandos before we 
carted it off, pay him a lump sum and get him drunk. 
He don’t know what we’re expectin’.” 

“How do you know he doesn’t?” 

“Who’d tell him?” 

“How do you know Macquart hasn’t told him?” 

“He’s not such a durned fool as that,” said the 
Captain. “Where’d be the sense of lettin’ another 
chap into the know?” 

“Well, it’s this way. Tillman and I have been 
suspecting that Macquart is up to some trick to 
do us three out and he’s pulled Wiart in. Of course 
it’s only suspicion, but if there is any understanding 
between them, and if Wiart does know what we ex- 
pect to find, the offer of two hundred will only 
strengthen his determination to help Macquart. 
He’ll say to himself that, with such a measly offer, 
it’s worth risking everything to go against us. I 
think we’d better let Wiart into the whole thing 
and make him a partner and see if we can get him 
to peach on Macquart, if Macquart has been doing 
any plotting. I could take him aside when we camp 
to-night and sound him if you fellows agree.” 

“Let him in!” said Hull. “You’d better let the 
whole of New Guinea in while you’re about it, and 
put up placards when we get back to Sydney statin’ 
the job we’ve been after and the amount.” 

“I think Houghton is right,” said Tillman. “It’s 


MACQUART’S THIRD TRICK 209 

better to lose a bit than lose all. Macquart is a 
rat and he hates you, Hull, and would be only 
too glad to serve you some dirty trick.” 

“Listen,” said Houghton. 

They were pursuing thejir way along a thorn 
alley in sight of Macquart and the others who were 
leading the way, and now, seeming to come from 
far away behind them, they heard a voice as though 
some one were hailing them. 

A girl’s voice evidently. Then it ceased. 

They looked back, but they could see nothing 
beyond the distance of twenty yards or so. Though 
the trees were so sparsely placed that walking be- 
tween them was easy, in the aggregate they made 
an obstruction to the eye, to say nothing of the fact 
that the path was irregular in its course. 

“Come on,” said Hull, “or we’ll lose sight of 
them chaps in front. It’s a bird, maybe, anyhow 
it’s no consarn of ours.” 

They resumed the way and their argument, till 
at last Hull gave in. 

“Well, if you chaps are set on it,” said he, “I’m 
not goin’ to stand against you, and Mac will have 
to pay the blighter out of his share. He’s fooled 
the bizness up to this an’ he’ll have to pay for his 
foolin’.” 

They had reached a part of the great thorn bush 
now that was simply a maze of alleys. This great 
maze extends over many square miles, how many no 
man can say, for no man has ever mapped it or 
measured it. The whole of this district is hated by 
the natives and feared as the abode of evil spirits. 


210 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


Small wonder, for nothing can be more sinister than 
this intricacy of paths hedged by the mournful 
thorn. 

Macquart and Wiart and Jacky, going steadily 
ahead, disappeared round an angle of the way and 
when the others reached the angle they found bend- 
ing paths leading from it in every direction, but of 
Macquart and Wiart and Jacky not a sign. 

It was as though the earth had swallowed them. 

“Hullo!” cried Hull. “What’s gone with them 
blighters?” 

“They’ve given us the slip,” said Tillman. His 
face had suddenly turned pale and his lips so dry 
that he had to moisten them. 

Houghton, putting his hands to his mouth, shouted 
out. Not a sound came in reply. 

“Quick,” said Hull. “Drop everything and after 
them.” 

He cast his bundle down, as did the others, and 
started off down the broadest of the paths before 
them; it split into three ways, and dividing they each 
took a path, calling all the time to keep in touch. 

They found nothing, and after a while, fearing to 
lose company, each began to return along the way 
he had come by, only to be confronted with the 
fact that he did not know the way; all sorts of 
feeding ways and side-cuts passed without thinking, 
formed now a problem more dark than the prob- 
lem set by the Sphinx. 

Keeping in touch by calling, they managed at last 
to reunite, but they were now utterly mazed, with- 


MACQUART’S THIRD TRICK 21 1 


out the least idea in which way to go — and the pre- 
cious bundles were lost. 

Dusk would soon be falling, suddenly, like a shut 
lid, and they were without food. 

“Oh, cuss that swine!” cried Hull. “I oughter 
’a’ put a bullet through his carciss. This is the 
third fool trick he’s played me. It’s my fault; I 
oughter ’a’ known.” 

“That beast Jacky must have played up to him,” 
said Tillman. 

Houghton said nothing for a moment. Then he 
spoke : 

“There’s no use in abusing them, or thinking of 
them till we’re able to catch them. What we’ve got 
to do is to get out of this infernal place; we’ve 
got a compass, and if we strike consistently in one 
direction, we will be all right. That river runs 
north and south; well, we must strike west, or at 
least take the most westerly paths we can find.” 

“Well, I’m blest if I didn’t forget the compass,” 
said Hull. 

He opened the box containing it, got it level and 
found the west. 

The path directly opposite to where he was stand- 
ing led due west, and with a load removed from 
their minds, they started down it. It was only now, 
with safety in sight, that they began fully to realise 
the horrible situation from which they were escap- 
ing. The thorn tangle had a personality all its 
own, wicked and malevolent, its intricacy seemed the 
intricacy of an evil mind set on their destruction. 

The path they were on led them in a straight line 


212 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


for some few hundred yards, and then bent to the 
right, leading due north. 

“Fitchered, b’gosh!” said the Captain. “We’re 
done !” 

“Come on,” said Tillman. “There’s no use stop- 
ping, and the light won’t last long.” 

They hurried ahead to a point where the path 
broke up into three ways, one leading due west. 

They struck down the westerly path, and it led 
them bravely till a curve came in it and they found 
themselves facing due south. 

Tillman felt the sweat standing out on the palms 
of his hands. 

The most terrible result of a maze like this is its 
demoralising effect. 

Hull, with a movement of exasperation, flung 
away the compass; it fell into the thorn wall on 
the right of them and stuck there. 

Then he folded his arms. 

Tillman and Houghton glanced at one another; 
then Tillman recovered the compass and put it in 
his pocket. 

“I ain’t used to it,” said Hull, as though he were 
addressing some fourth and viewless party. “I ain't 
used to it. It ain’t fair on a man, a lee shore ain’t 
in it — cuss the carciss of that onholy blighter; and 
to think I had him in reach of the grip of my fist 
— an’ let him go !” 

Tillman took him by the arm. 

“Come on,” he said. “There’s no use in talk- 
ing. Our only chance is to keep moving. We’ll 


MACQUART’S THIRD TRICK 213 

get out somehow, and then we’ll deal with Mac- 
quart.” 

This latter idea seemed to restore the Captain 
to his senses, and they started off. 

But now, with the suddenness of the tropics, night 
was on them. 

It seemed to rise up from the earth like a mist, 
and then the stars were shining above. 

They kept blindly on; there was sufficient light 
to let them see their way, but a terrible tiredness 
was coming on them. Since morning they had been 
travelling, with only a break for the midday meal, 
and the excitement which had made them fight their 
tiredness was now having its own effect. 

Tillman stopped where a tree had fallen length- 
ways in their path. 

“We’d better stop and rest,” said he. “Here’s 
stuff for a fire, it’ll be company; lend us a hand 
to break some of the branches.” 

The tree had been dead long enough to make the 
branches brittle without rotting them, and in a few 
minutes they had collected enough sticks. Hough- 
ton produced a box of matches from his pocket; the 
flame of the first match caught, and in a moment 
the fire was crackling and blazing. 

Then they sat down round it. 

It is not till you are in the wilderness that you 
know the value of a fire. 

A fire holds much more than brilliancy and 
warmth; to men and to dogs it recalls in the sub- 
conscious mind the camp cooking and evening rests 
from the million years when we were nomads. The 


214 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


dead Past lives in a fire, just as it lives in music. 
It was not round a tent pole, but round a fire that 
the first home was built. 

The effect of the fire was greatest on Hull, who, 
producing his pipe, filled it and lit it. Houghton 
by the firelight had perceived a prickly pear growing 
amongst the thorn, and he was engaged in cutting 
some of the fruit off with his knife, taking care 
to avoid the prickles. 

“See here,” said he, “we won’t starve nor die 
of thirst; there’s lots of this stuff about, I saw 
several bushes as we came along. It’s the only thing 
that seems to grow here beside this beastly bram- 
ble stuff; have some?” 

Tillman took one and, having got rid of the 
prickles, ate it and found it very good, but Hull 
refused food just at present; he was content with 
tobacco and he was busy in his mind with Mac- 
quart. His extraordinary intellect seemed to have 
eliminated Tillman and Houghton from its pur- 
view; it was as though all this business concerned 
him alone, and he seemed to be reviling Fate as well 
as Macquart, though he never named the lady. 

“It’s cruel hard,” said he, “cruel hard No, 

I don’t want none of that prickly stuff; if I can’t 
get man’s food, I’ll leave it be; I’m not goin’ to fill 
my inside with sich garbige — it’s cruel hard to be 
laid be the heels like this with a d — d bramble 
hedge givin’ one the turn at every p’int. It’s playin’ 
it pretty low down on a sailorman to set reefs 
before him like that ashore. And to think I had 
a good gun in me hand and didn’t put a bullet 


MACQUART’S THIRD TRICK 215 

through the skin of that blighted scarecrow when 
I had the chanst. It’s the same trick he served me 
outside the ’baccy shop in Sydney. In I went to 
get a seegar, and out I come to find him gone. Saw 
him through the winder as I was lightin’ the seegar, 
and before I’d blown the match out he’d gone. I 
ought to ’a’ known the chap wasn’t a man; he’s a 
conjurin’ trick on legs worked by the devil, that’s 
what he is, and I ought to ’a’ spoiled him when I 
had the chanst. It was the same fower years ago; 
left me doped in a pub, he did, and slid off with 
me money.” 

“Did he take much?” asked Houghton, more for 
the sake of saying something than from any interest 
in the question. 

“It’s not s’much what he took,” said the Cap- 
tain evasively, “as the way he took it; left me on a 
mud bank stranded, he did. Never clapped eyes 
on him again till I sighted him at Sydney.” 

He had let his pipe go out, and he was relighting 
it now when, of a sudden, he dropped the match 
and started to his feet. Some one was hailing them. 

The very same voice that Houghton and Till- 
man had heard that afternoon came again, clearer 
this time and closer. 

“Hi— hi— hi!” 

Hull made answer. 

“Hullo!” he roared. “Where are you? — Who 
are you? Hullo!” 

Again came the hail, closer now, and away down 
the path shewn by the starlight amidst the trees, 
they glimpsed a figure, white, like a ghost. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


CHAYA FINDS THE BUNDLES 
LL through that day Macquart and the party 



T* he was leading to their destruction had been 
followed by Saji, intent on Macquart and his do- 
ings, and with Saji had been Chaya. 

It was nothing to them to pursue without being 
seen, and it was indicative of the mentality of Saji 
that on a business like this Chaya, his main desire 
in life, although she was at his side, was obliterated 
for him by the immediate objective. 

As I have said, his mind wore blinkers; when he 
was hunting he was a huntsman pure and simple, 
and he had no view of anything else but the quarry. 
Chaya might have been a dog for all the attention 
he paid her on this business. 

At noon, when the expedition paused for the 
midday meal, Saji and Chaya kept watch through 
the trees and when the expedition started again 
they followed. 

Saji had quite a clear understanding of the fact 
that Macquart was in partnership with the Rubber 
Man for the purpose of destroying his companions. 
Had you sifted Saji’s evidence before a court of 
justice, or rather had you sifted the evidence that 
satisfied Saji about the murderous intentions of Mac- 


CHAYA FINDS THE BUNDLES 217 

quart, you would not have obtained a conviction. 
All the same from what he had observed, from 
what he had heard, Saji, with his unerring dog 
instinct, was convinced of Macquart’s intentions. 

But he did not know how Macquart was going 
to carry them out. He thought at first that Mac- 
quart, relying on Wiart’s knowledge of the forest, 
was going to lead his companions into one of the pit- 
traps dug by natives for wild animals, but when 
they arrived at the great thorn maze everything 
became clear to him. Wiart had explored this place 
and been through it twice with perfect security ow- 
ing to the fact that he had blazed his way. Wiart, 
when the drink was not on him, was an enthusiastic 
forester and his knowledge of the rubber plant and 
its habitats was equalled by few. He was also a 
naturalist The thorn maze had interested him 
as it could not fail to do, and Saji, now faced with 
it, perceived at once the gist and meaning of this 
expedition. But he would not enter it. He had no 
need to, for one thing. Instinct told him to get back 
to the river at once, to hide near Wiart’s house and 
to await the return of Wiart and Macquart. They 
would come back alone — of that he was certain. 
Then he could continue his tracking of them, for 
it was no part of his scheme, laid down by the 
mother of Chaya, to deal with Macquart till that 
person arrived at the end of his tether and disclosed 
the place where John Lant’s treasure was really 
hidden. 

“I go back,” said Saji, when the party had dis- 
appeared into the thorn bush. “1 he Rubber Man 


2 I S 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


and the other are leading them there to lose them, 
then they will come back; I go to meet them quicker 
than you can follow.” 

“Go,” said Chaya, “I can return alone.” 

Next moment he was gone. 

Chaya knew all about the thorn maze, though 
she had never entered it; she knew that it was a 
haunt of evil spirits and the Dyak blood in her 
veins and vague old traditions in her mind made 
the place repellent to her. But Houghton had gone 
in there to his death, and without hesitation she fol- 
lowed, just as the iron filing follows the magnet. 

Chaya knew nothing about love, she had never 
even considered the name of the thing. When Saji 
had shown his feelings toward her, she had repelled 
his advances as she would have repelled the fawn- 
ing of a dog; he had never pressed them. 

Once, and once only, he had stroked her arm 
and she had flung his hand away, angry at his action 
but not knowing in the least the real cause of her 
anger. With Houghton it was different. Since first 
seeing him he had never been out of her mind. He 
was something quite new. A man like Wiart or 
the rubber traders, who had sometimes come to the 
village, but, somehow, absolutely different. Wiart 
had also made advances to her. Wiart, in fact, 
had once tried to kiss her and she had repelled 
him just as she had repelled Saji and just as un- 
consciously and without knowledge of the evil she 
was repelling. 

But Houghton seemed to her a different being 
from these, not only on account of his good looks, 


CHAYA FINDS THE BUNDLES 219 

which pleased her, but on account of his person- 
ality and his power to call her to him and hold her 
thoughts. 

The thought that he was in danger raised in her 
a feeling of dread as though the danger threatened 
herself — as to what became of Tillman or Hull, 
she did not care in the least. 

When she entered the thorn tangle the others 
had got far ahead. The path she was on showed 
no traces of them and, before she had gone very 
far, she was confronted with the choice between 
two paths so alike that they seemed twins. 

She chose the wrong one, pursued it for a while, 
paused to listen and fancied she heard voices. The 
thorn bush is full of illusion to the person who is 
alone and listening. 

Then she called out several times, but received no 
answer. It was her voice that Tillman and Hough- 
ton and Hull heard. Had they replied to it things 
might have been different, but they went on to their 
fate, and Chaya, receiving no answer, went on to 
hers. 

She followed the path till it divided into three 
ways, chose one of them haphazard, and pursued 
its winding course till she was lost as surely as 
the person whom she was trying to find. 

And still she kept on, not trying to escape, but 
endeavouring to find. 

She had no thought at all of her own danger; she 
did not consider in the least the fact that, if she 
found Houghton, they would be both in the same 
position — lost. 


220 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


She just sought for him, filled only by the tre« 
mendous passion that only now was beginning to 
declare itself in her breast. 

Something great as the sea, as reasonless, as 
powerful. 

She would find him in this terrible place if she 
kept on. If she did not find him she might die — 
it would be the same thing. 

She kept on. 

Then all at once she found a meeting of the ways 
and on the ground three bundles. They were the 
bundles that Hull and his companions had been 
carrying. She had watched them packed that morn- 
ing, she had watched them unstrapped at the mid- 
day meal, and here they were, lying on the ground. 

What did it mean? 

She sat down beside them. What could it mean? 
Had Macquart and the Rubber Man slain the 
others, then? There was no sign of a struggle, no 
blood. The bundles were just lying there where 
they had been cast without a sign to tell of the 
reason why they had been abandoned. 

She listened intently and now, sitting there alone, 
she heard in the utter stillness the voice of the thorn 
maze, the murmur and drone of a million insects 
inhabiting this green and treacherous sphinx. 

For five minutes she sat without moving — waiting, 
watching, listening. Then she rose to her feet, 
looked in every direction, and then, stooping and 
picking up the bundles, she resumed her way, taking 
without choice the path she was facing. 

The bundles were not too heavy to carry, but 


CHAYA FINDS THE BUNDLES 221 


they were awkward; she cast one over her shoulder 
by its strap, held one under her right arm and 
the other in her hand. She did not feel the weight 
nor did their awkwardness trouble her; she had only 
one thought — the man she was looking for. 

Then the darkness came. 

This was a terrible moment for Chaya, the gloom 
filled her mind just as it filled the world, vague 
terrors rose up before her. Death, starvation, in- 
jury, even the terror that lies in entanglement could 
not influence her or make her turn from her object, 
but the terrors of darkness daunted her soul. 
Ghosts of all sorts of superstitions and beliefs that 
had once haunted the brains of her ancestors awoke 
in her mind and walked there, paralysing her 
thoughts. She wished to hide, but there was no 
place of refuge. Then, as though the darkness 
were a heavy load bearing her down, she crouched 
on the ground beneath the stars. 

On this, as on nearly all the paths, there were 
trees sparsely set, and the branches above moving 
slightly to the faint night wind now obliterated the 
stars and now let them peep through. 

How long she had been crouching thus she could 
not tell, when something reached her, rousing her 
from her half-dazed state as a person is roused 
from sleep. 

It was the smell of burning wood. 

One of the results of living in the jungle as Chaya 
had lived, is the power to translate the messages 
that sounds, sights and smells bring one, from the 


222 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


language of the jungle into the language of human 
thought or into thought pictures. 

The smell of burning instantly produced in 
Chaya’s mind the picture of a camp-fire. 

She sprang erect, and then slowly turned with 
head half cast up, testing the air in every direction. 
You could have noticed that she did not “sniff” the 
wind; she breathed quite naturally and then, as- 
sured of the fact that a fire was lighted somewhere 
about and that the scent of the burning wood was 
coming on the light breeze, she picked up her bun- 
dles and came along the path in the direction she 
had been going before terror and the darkness had 
overcome her. 

Arrived at dividing ways, she chose the one that 
led most nearly in the direction of the quarter the 
wind had come from, and then at a point where 
it split she was rewarded. 

Away down the left-hand path she saw the glow 
of the fire. 

She instantly hailed it, and at once came Hull’s 
answer. She replied and came along clutching the 
bundles tightly, walking swiftly, scarcely breath- 
ing; laughing to herself with joy. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


HULL IS ENLIGHTENED 


W HY, it’s a gal,” said Hull. 

“She’s got our bundles,” said Tillman. 
Chaya advanced straight into the firelight so 
that the red glow lit her to the waist; she did not 
seem to see Hull or Tillman, she dropped the 
bundles one after the other, and still without speak- 
ing, and with her wide dark eyes fixed on Hough- 
ton, held out both hands to him. 

“You!” said Houghton, taking her hands in his. 
He could say nothing more for a moment, and the 
others stood by waiting, whilst in the stillness, 
against the far murmur of the forest, could be heard 
the faint crackling and flickering of the fire. 

“I followed,” said Chaya, “fearing the man would 
leave you to be lost. Then I lost myself looking for 
you.” 

She explained, pointing to the bundles as Hough- 
ton released her hands, and then they began to 
understand the bitter truth that this joyful vision 
was a prisoner like themselves, a butterfly that had 
managed to get imprisoned with common flies in 
this huge vegetable fly-trap. 

But she had brought the bundles and pushed star- 
223 


224 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


vation away from them, they were saved for the 
time being, and as for water, they could never actu- 
ally die of thirst whilst they had the succulent fruit 
of the prickly pear, to say nothing of pitcher plants 
which they had noticed yesterday attached to some 
of the lianas that hung between the sparsely set tree 
boles of the paths. 

They sat down, Chaya and Houghton rather 
apart from the others, and Hull, putting some more 
sticks on the fire, opened his bundle and produced 
some food. The Captain had become quite cheer- 
ful again. It was indicative of his mind that he 
did not seem in the least interested in Chaya or 
the problem of how and why she had followed them. 
The bundle and its contents filled all his thoughts. 

“Well,” said he, “I never did think I’d have set 
my teeth in a piece of beef again. Them as likes 
prickly pears may eat ’em. I can’t get on with gar- 
bige, nohow. They tell me there’s chaps that lives 
on green stuff like rabbits and enjoys it, chaps with 
money enough to buy beefsteaks. I’m not beyond 
likin’ a good cabbidge in its place, but it has to be 
in its place and that’s a long way behind a piece 
of steak. Lord love me! I’d give half my share 
of that there cache for a steak and taters and onions 
now, and a cup of corfee.” 

“Well, you’re not likely to get it,” said Tillman, 
who was also engaged on the contents of his bun- 
dle. “If you even smell a beefsteak again you’ll 
be lucky — you’re not eating, Houghton.” 

“I’m not hungry,” said Houghton. 

He was sitting so close to Chaya that their arms 


HULL IS ENLIGHTENED 


225 


touched and he had just captured her hand which 
was lying on the ground beside him as if waiting 
to be captured. 

He felt the firm palm and then he felt the fingers 
close upon his thumb, the most delightful embrace 
in the whole world. 

He knew that she had followed him all that day 
and that she had risked her own safety by entering 
the maze in an attempt to save him. He knew that 
she was lost now just as he was and that Death 
was literally standing over them. The thought did 
not trouble him, or troubled him just as little as it 
troubled her. Love is so tremendous a power that 
Death, unless it means separation, has no force of 
way against it. It becomes the little thing that it 
really is just as that inflated phantom, the centi- 
pede, becomes withered leaves under a destructive 
blow. 

Tillman, who had now finished his supper, began 
to question Chaya. She described her wanderings 
amongst the thorn. She had never been here be- 
fore, always avoiding the mysterious place which 
had the reputation of being haunted. 

The reason of this reputation lay in the fact, 
perhaps, that some natives who had come in here 
had never returned. One of its names in the Pap- 
uan was the Place of Confusion. 

“A jolly good name, too,” said Tillman; “but you 
say the Rubber Man has been here several times; 
how does he know the place so well that he leads 
us here, yet escapes himself?” 


226 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


“He is perhaps known to the evil spirits,” said 
Chaya. 

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Tillman. “He’s well 
enough known to Gin, anyway. Oh, the skunk! If 
I ever get hold of him.” 

“What I want to get hold of,” said Hull, who had 
lit his pipe, “is them whiskers. I wants to sit com- 
fortable on that chap’s chest and play with them 
whiskers. I wants a pair of tweezers and no help 
from no razor. I wants to talk to him, same as a 
barber does, between the pulls. Show him each 
hair as I plucks it out; any one else may scalp him 
as wants to, I only wants his whiskers.” 

“He won’t have much hair left if we ever catch 
him,” said Tillman. “The thing that gets me is 
that they are mostly likely now at the cache, dig- 
ging it out like rats. Hull, I didn’t say anything 
about it to you before, but you remember that old 
burnt ship Houghton and I told you we saw in the 
lagoon?” 

“Ay, ay,” replied Hull; “what about it?” 

“Well, I believe that was the Terschelling.” 

“The gold ship?” 

“The same.” 

“But the gold ship weren’t burnt,” said Hull. 
“Mac said she was sunk at her moorings.” 

“He lied. She was sunk, but she was burnt first, 
burnt with all aboard her.” 

Hull pondered on this for a while. Then he 
burst out: 

“But how the mischief was the stuff cached by 
the river ” 


HULL IS ENLIGHTENED 


227 


“It wasn’t; it was cached by the lagoon, some- 
where on the bank. Macquart brought us all up 
the river for the purpose of finding a chance to 
do us in. He can get the Barracuda out with 
Jacky.” 

“Oh, the swab !” said Hull. 

The mildness of his language was indicative of 
the depth, below oaths, in him that was stirred. 

“There’s one comfort,” said Houghton, who was 
still holding Chaya’s hand unobserved by the others, 
“Wiart is sure to be done in by Macquart if they 
manage to get the Barracuda away. The only live 
men of those three to be left will be Macquart and 
Jacky, and Jacky will get his dose after he has been 
paid off at Sydney. I am firmly of opinion that 
Macquart is not a devil, he is the Devil.” 

“Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!” said Hull, groaning like 
a person with the stomach ache, “to think of that 
chap fillin’ his pockets with the boodle and us three 
sittin’ here not able to lift a finger. Did any man 
ever hear the like of that? Us with the guns and 
pistols and them unarmed.” 

“It shows you what trickery can do,” said Hough- 
ton grimly; “what one man, plotting and planning 
for a definite end, can do against three men who 
have acted like fools. I’m not speaking against you, 
Hull, so much as against myself and Tillman. We 
suspected the chap and we should have tied him 
to us before coming into this place. Well, it’s done 
and there’s no use in grousing. There’s just the 
chance left us that we may get out of this before 
Mac gets off with the yawl.” 


228 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


“Yes,” said Tillman, tapping the ashes out of his 
pipe, “and we won’t be able to do anything unless 
we’re fresh.” He yawned, stretched himself on the 
ground and in a minute his deep breathing told that 
he was asleep. 

Hull in a few minutes followed his example, lying 
face down and with his head on the crook of his 
arm. 

Houghton turned to Chaya ; her face was close to 
his and in the vague light of the moon that came 
across the thorn bushes and tree branches her dark 
eyes gazed at his, then their lips met. 

They had never spoken a word of love one to 
the other, yet they had told each other everything. 


CHAPTER XXV 


CHAYA STRIKES THE BLAZE 

T HEY awoke at dawn. Chaya had fallen asleep 
with her head resting on Houghton’s shoul- 
der. She was the first to awake. Houghton had 
not slept at all. Holding her to him with his arm 
around her waist, feeling the warmth of her body 
through the warm girdle of brass beneath her robe, 
breathing the perfume of her hair, he did not sleep; 
he dreamt the dream of his life. 

She awoke suddenly, raised her head, saw Hough- 
ton and then raising her hands seized him by the 
arm, as though to push him away from her — only 
for a moment. The remnants of sleep still clinging 
to her had vanished and her eyes, losing their wild 
and bewildered expression, grew soft, human and 
filled with love. The Chaya who had laughed at 
the battle between the scorpion and the centipede, 
the Chaya who had led him that day into the out- 
skirts of the forest to laugh at him and elude him, 
the Chaya who had tracked them yesterday with 
Saji, not knowing in her own heart the real reason 
of her care for Houghton, had vanished. This was 
a new being, a rapturous, warm, living woman. The 
savage had vanished entirely, the beauty of the sav- 
229 


230 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


age remained, lending a supreme, indefinable fas- 
cination to the beauty of the woman. 

“Chaya,” whispered Houghton, holding her to 
him, “all my life I have been waiting for you — listen, 
before the others wake up, you are mine and never 
will I let you go.” 

Chaya sighed deeply. Then she put her arms 
round his neck. She did not speak one word. She 
raised her perfect lips to his and the eyes in whose 
darkness and depth lay the mysteries of the forest 
and the sea. 

Hull, awaking from sleep, saw nothing. Whilst 
he was rubbing his eyes they had drawn apart; he 
touched Tillman with his foot and the latter, awak- 
ing with a start, sat up. 

“Good Lord!” said he, “I dreamt we were out of 
this and back on the Barracuda. What’s the time?” 

“There ain’t no time here,” said Hull. “It’s 
after sun-up and time to be movin’. Oh, cuss that 
swab! I dreamt I’d got him by the short hairs and 
here I am still on my beam ends.” He yawned and 
yawned, stretched, and then sprang to his feet, rub- 
bing his fingers through his hair and again stretch- 
ing his back as if to make sure of its strength. 

Hull was very much of an animal man and the 
animal in man never appears more surely than in 
the act of eating or the moment of awakening from 
sleep. 

“Well,” said Tillman, “we’d better have break- 
fast before we make a move. It’s the biggest mis- 
take to set to work on an empty stomach.” 

They set to on the provisions. Chaya cut some 


CHAYA STRIKES THE BLAZE 231 

prickly pears and picked some small red fruit from 
a bush that grew low down among the thorns. She 
would touch nothing else. 

She watched Hull eating. He seemed to fasci- 
nate her and amuse her at the same time. One of 
her greatest charms was a childishness and gaiety 
which even their desperate position could not 
destroy. 

She ate her breakfast seated beside Houghton, 
furtively feeling for his hand now and then, look- 
ing at Hull and listening to the conversation, which 
she could not always understand. 

They were discussing ways and means of escape 
as futilely as children discussing the meaning of an 
algebraical problem, when Tillman, catching sight 
of something away down the path, drew their atten- 
tion to it. 

A small dark figure was disporting itself on the 
ground, approaching them, yet hiding itself as it 
came behind the tree boles. 

“It’s a monkey!” cried Hull. 

Chaya, who had sprung to her feet and who was 
standing shading her eyes, laughed. 

“It is mine,” said she, “it is Mitu.” Saji, a long 
time ago, had killed a monkey on one of his hunt- 
ing expeditions. The monkey had been carrying a 
baby monkey in its arms and Chaya, who had been 
with Saji, rescued the baby and brought it up. It 
was her pet and it followed her always at a dis- 
tance, mostly springing along the branches of the 
trees under which she walked. 

On starting with Saji yesterday morning she had 


232 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


tied Mitu up. It must have escaped and, picking up 
her traces, pursued her. 

She told her companions this in a few words and 
then went forward to meet her follower. But Mitu 
was shy. The sight of the white men evidently did 
not please him. He took to a tree and Chaya, 
standing beneath it, began to talk to him in the 
native. 

“Blest if she ain’t talkin’ to it same ’s if it was 
a human,” said Hull. 

“Leave her alone,” said Tillman. “It may be 
that the beast can lead us out. It followed her all 
the way from the village and it has found her. If 
it did that, it can find its way back.” 

They saw the monkey under the blandishments of 
Chaya drop from branch to branch. Then it 
dropped on her shoulder and sat with one arm 
round her head and its eyes fixed on Hull and his 
companions. 

Chaya continued talking to it as if explaining 
things, slowly approaching the others as she did so. 

“He may lead us,” said she. “I do not know. 
It may be. But I have nothing to tie him with.” 

Mitu had on a grass collar and he had evidently 
broken or bitten through the cord that had tethered 
him. Tillman understood her meaning at once and, 
searching in his pockets, found six or seven feet of 
lanyard. 

He produced it, and Chaya, sitting down and 
taking Mitu in her lap, fastened one end of the 
lanyard to his collar. 

Then she let him play about for a while to ac- 


CHAYA STRIKES THE BLAZE 233 

custom him to the constraint of the string and then, 
standing up, spoke to him again. 

Mitu, looking preternaturally wise, listened and 
then started off, taking the way he had come by. 
Chaya followed him, and the others, picking up 
their bundles, followed Chaya. 

“Well,” said Hull, “I never did think I’d be con-> 
dimned to follow a monkey. We only wants a bar- 
rel organ to make the show complete. Look at 
the brute. It’s for all the world as if it had five 
legs.’’ 

Mitu’s legs were not unlike his tail. He was 
going on all fours and his progress was not rapid. 
He would stop to sniff at the leaves and every now 
and then he would whisk up a tree bole as far as 
the lead would permit. 

Chaya, recognising that he would lead them more 
swiftly if he were released and allowed to take to 
his own element — the air — untied the lanyard from 
his collar and let him loose. 

Next moment he was swaying from branch to 
branch; where the trees were too sparsely set he 
would take to the ground, and though the progress 
was sometimes slow it was sure. 

On one of the paths along which he led them 
they came on a strange thing, the skeleton of a man 
half overgrown with ground vines. Some native 
trapped long ago in this tangle and, dying of starva- 
tion or perhaps simply from fright, had left these 
bones, just as in the Venus’ fly-trap the insect leaves 
its skeleton. 


234 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


They did not stop to inspect the dismal thing. 
They hurried on. 

“I don’t like meetin’ that skillington,” said Hull. 
“It ain’t lucky.” 

“Nonsense,” said Tillman. “There’s no such 
thing as luck.” 

“Ain’t there?” replied the Captain. “Well, if 
there ain’t, there’s such a thing as bad luck and it 
seems to me we’ve struck it. No such thing as luck! 
Why, I’ve seen it. You take a ship and alter her 
name and you’ll see it, too, if you go for a cruise 
in her. Why, there’s nuthin’ else but luck in this 
here world and you’ll know it, me son, when you’ve 
seen as much as I have.” 

An hour later after Mitu had led them, hither 
and thither and seemingly in all directions, they 
came on the ashes of the camp-fire. The monkey 
had brought them back to the very point they had 
started from. 

Chaya sat down and buried her face in her hands; 
the others stood by speechless and paralysed for the 
moment. 

It was only now, really, that they began to recog- 
nise the appalling effect of the maze upon the mind. 
The feeling of being held — by nothing, baffled — by 
nothing. 

Here they had air, light, liberty and speech, yet 
they were tied and bound by a viewless conjurer as 
surely as though he had tied them with visible ropes 
and thongs. 

Hull, the pessimist, was the first to break silence. 

“Well, we’ve got to get out,” said he. “I reckon 


CHAYA STRIKES THE BLAZE 235 

that skillington has spent itself now we’ve come back 
from the place we started from. There’s no use 
in the gal takin’ on, she did her best, but I’d like 
to put a bullet into that durned monkey. I didn’t 
put no store by that monkey.” 

“Yes,” said Tillman, “there’s no use in complain- 
ing. Let’s make a new start and trust to chance.” 

Houghton was kneeling by Chaya and talking to 
her in a low tone. Then she rose up. She had been 
crying, but now she dried her tears, put her hand 
in Houghton’s and followed the others on the new 
start off. 

They had not been an hour on the new endeavour 
when they were startled by a cry from Chaya. 

They turned and found her kneeling by a tree. 
Houghton was standing beside her and she was 
pointing to something on the bark. 

On the bark, about four feet up from the roots, 
was the mark of an axe blow. A piece of bark had 
been cut right out. It was an old injury inflicted 
on the tree possibly months ago, but it was definite 
and purposeful and Chaya knew at once its mean- 
ing. She rose up and hurried along to the next 
tree ahead. It shewed nothing. She examined tree 
after tree and then again she cried out. 

When they reached her she was pointing to an- 
other mark similar to the first, only slightly higher 
up. Tillman saw the whole thing at a glance. 

“She’s struck the blaze,” said he. “Can’t you see, 
Wiart or maybe some native has made it — she’s 
saved us.” 

They followed her as she hurried along. Her 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


236 

keen eyes, trained to observation, required only one 
glance at a tree to tell whether it was blazed or 
not. 

She had no difficulty at all at cross-roads, for here 
every tree was blazed till the right direction was 
indicated. On straight paths the blaze was rare, it 
was not really required, yet it was there sometimes 
as though the man who had made it was so im- 
pressed by the possibilities of this terrible place that 
he determined to leave his mark as often as 
possible. 

The depression and anguish of spirit that had 
ridden them up to this now completely vanished 
and the renewed feeling of life and elevation of 
spirit shewed itself in each man according to 
his temperament. Tillman whistled. Houghton 
walked silent, erect, with a brightness in his eye 
that spoke of a soul relieved from torture. He had 
suffered more than any of the others. Hull was 
flushed and swearing, threatening Macquart and 
making fantastic promises to himself with regard 
to Wiart’s whiskers. 

They had not far to go, less than a mile the 
blaze led them and then vanished where the path 
of a sudden broke up and delivered them to the 
forest. 

To find the thorn no longer on either side of one 
was to experience the feelings of a man who escapes 
from the clutches of a malevolent giant. The at- 
mosphere of the forest was quite different from the 
atmosphere of the maze; a blind man could have 
told the difference. There the air seemed stagnant 


CHAYA STRIKES THE BLAZE 237 

and like a prison. The life of the forest avoided 
the place, all but the insect life that buzzed and 
droned amidst the thorn. 

Here the parrots were shrieking and chattering 
and the little monkeys scurrying amidst the branches 
and the wind stirring the leaves and bringing with 
it the perfume of the camphor and cutch trees and 
a faint fresh something that was perhaps the breath 
of the sea. 

“Thank God!” said Houghton. 

Chaya, with the faithful Mitu on her shoulder, 
looked around her. She was now in her own home ; 
she could find her way in the forest by instinct, pos- 
sessing that unerring sense of direction more sure 
than the pointing of the compass. 

She led the way now, Houghton beside her and 
the others following. It was half an hour after 
noon and they had still almost a day’s journey be- 
fore them ere they could reach the river. 

It was now a race for the gold; but just as in 
the maze they were the prisoners of Confusion, so 
here in the forest they were the prisoners of Dis- 
tance. They could not run, nor could they advance 
fast; the journey required that they should husband 
all their energies. Barrier lianas sometimes lay in 
their path so thickly that they had to be cut through 
and it was absolutely necessary for them to halt 
every now and then for a short rest. 

They flung away their bundles, retaining only in 
their pockets a few morsels of food, and they would 
have flung away their guns and ammunition had it 
been possible. 


23 8 THE GOLD TRAIL 

Sometimes when they rested they talked. Hull 
grumbled. 

“If them two blighters went back to the river,” 
said he, “they’ll have taken the boat sure to reach 
the lagoon, and then where’ll we be?” 

“We’ll have to tramp it,” said Tillman. “Make 
down the river bank as hard as we can pelt, but 
the chances are they’ll have struck for the lagoon 
through the forest. Wiart seems to know the for- 
est pretty well.” 

“How long will it take them to unload the cache, 
I wonder?” said Houghton. “God! it makes me 
boil to think that we may reach the lagoon only 
to find the Barracuda gone, and we stranded here 
and those two and that infernal Jacky making for 
Sydney.” 

“Don’t think,” said Tillman. “There’s not a 
ha’pporth of us thinking. We can only do our best, 
and we’re clear of that thorn tangle. Come, let’s 
be getting on.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE TREASURE 

/ *T A HE decision of Macquart to seize the treasure 
if possible for himself and to destroy his 
companions had been taken on board of the Barra- 
cuda long before they reached the river. 

Before starting from Sydney, he had not con- 
ceived the idea. His mind had been taken up en- 
tirely with the preparations for the expedition, but 
there had always been a reservation in his mind due 
to the terms which Screed and the others had ex- 
acted from him. Privately, he held himself open 
to swindle them if he could, but without the least 
idea of how the thing was to be done. 

On board the Barracuda his greed, his hatred of 
Hull and the possibilities that lay in Jacky inspired 
the first part of the plot. 

His original story, as told to Screed and the 
others, made no mention of the real position of 
the sunken Terschelling or the cache. Indeed, he 
had purposely put them on the wrong scent by stat- 
ing that the cache was on the river bank and the 
ship sunk in the river. He had determined to keep 
the real position a secret till he was on the spot, and 
so be master of the situation till the last possible 
minute. 


239 


240 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


The wisdom of this plan of action became appar- 
ent to him on board the Barracuda. When Hull 
insulted him and made him work, he restrained his 
anger not only by his will, but by the thought that, 
having the whip-hand, he would perhaps be able 
to make the whip felt. 

He determined to divulge nothing, to leave the 
Barracuda in the lagoon and to take his compan- 
ions right up to the Dyak village. Once there, 
means might be found to get rid of them, and then 
with Jacky’s help all would be plain sailing. He 
had made a study of Jacky and found him to be a 
black negation, a mechanism acting to the strongest 
will brought to bear on it, and Macquart had no 
doubt as to the strength of his own will. 

The only point against the plan lay in the ques- 
tion of the safety of it. Was it safe for him to 
return to that village from which he had fled fifteen 
years ago? 

Now Macquart was a very clever man, but even 
very clever men are subject to delusions. The fif- 
teen years he had spent wandering hither and thither 
about the world seemed to him fifteen ages. He 
had learned to forget so many things that he fancied 
himself forgotten, not knowing or remembering 
that life in a tiny community is not the same as life 
in the great cities, and that the village has a memory 
far longer and more retentive than the memory of 
a town. 

Even so, he was not without vague qualms. But 
the strong desire to get even with Hull, the mad 
greed to possess everything and an indefinable an- 


THE TREASURE 


241 


tagonism that lay between him and Screed were 
factors too powerful to be over-ridden by vague 
qualms as to personal safety. 

Then there was another very curious factor: the 
desire, or instinct, to return to the place that was 
fatal to Lant and might be fatal to himself. 

It was the homing instinct that carries the mur- 
derer to the place of his crime. An attraction be- 
gotten of repulsion. 

Having made his plan, he stuck to it. Leaving 
the Barracuda in the lagoon, he brought his com- 
panions up the river, and though the first sight of 
Wiart upset his ideas and made him dread the pres- 
ence of a white witness, he had not been long in 
that gentleman’s company before he recognised in 
him a helper and a tool absolutely as though Satan 
had placed Wiart at his disposal. 

Then, to gain time, he prepared the faked 
treasure-digging expedition to the river spit, and 
then having made sure that Wiart was fit for the 
business and ripe for it, all of a sudden he disclosed 
the whole thing to him. 

Nothing could have appealed more to Wiart. 
As overseer of the rubber business he received 
two thousand dollars a year, and the climate was 
breaking his health. If the villainy failed, it would 
only mean three dead men in the jungle and a re- 
turn to the rubber business. If it succeeded, it 
would mean unlimited money and the delights of 
civilisation in the form of women, wine, raiment 
and ease. 

Wiart was an unspeculative individual, else per- 


242 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


haps he would not have endured his life up to this 
so well. He never thought for a moment that this 
gold for which he was prepared to do anything 
might be a thing more dangerous to touch than a 
live dynamo — when Macquart was the object 
through which he touched it. 

Not a bit. With the gleeful acquiescence of a 
schoolboy enticed to rob apples, he helped to shoul- 
der the infernal scheme, and more, he engaged to 
put it through. 

He knew the forest and its possibilities, and it 
was his ingenious scheme to make the forest a 
criminal. 

He would not aid in killing. The forest would 
do all that, by the hands of its child, the great Thorn 
Tangle. 

Now on its northern side the Thorn had only 
one broad way of entrance. Wiart on his first ex- 
ploration of the place had blazed his way, and 
quite confident of returning on his trail had wan- 
dered far, coming out on the western side at last 
by the purest accident. He had made another ex- 
pedition in search of beetles only a few weeks be- 
fore the arrival of Macquart and his companions 
and he knew that, whilst for himself and whoever 
he might lead the place was safe, it was death to any 
unfortunate led into it without knowledge of the 
blaze. 

Once he had got far enough and finding the 
others some way behind, he had waited till a bend 
in the path helped by the trees hid his actions. Then 
he had given the word, ‘‘Full speed.” We know 


THE TREASURE 243 

the rest, as far as it concerns Hull and Houghton 
and Tillman. 

As for Macquart and his two companions, they 
did not speak, till, led by the rubber man, they were 
free of the maze. 

It had been debated between them as to whether 
Jacky was to be taken into their confidence by word 
of mouth. Wiart was for telling him the whole 
thing and making him an accomplice; but Mac- 
quart refused. “If we can get rid of them as easy 
as you say, where’s the use of telling the nigger?” 
said he. “He won’t know whether they’ve stayed 
behind from choice or got left, and he has no brains 
to guess with, I reckon; if any explaining is to be 
done, we’d better leave it till we are at sea.” 

Wiart had agreed, and now clear of the maze, 
with Jacky following them, they struck west, led by 
Wiart. Wiart was very much more than a drunk- 
ard. Half English, half Dutch, his father had been 
a botanist employed by the Dutch government in 
forest work in Borneo. Wiart had been born with 
the instinct of the forest in his blood. He could 
not lose himself, especially in these forests that he 
knew so well. He was following now a line of 
demarcation between a vast grove of dammar trees 
and a mixed wilderness of camphor, cutch and teak, 
and now he was skirting a huge boggy patch where 
rubber trees and nipah palms grew in profusion. 

“You are certain we are going right?” said 
Macquart. 

“Sure,” replied Wiart. “I could tell my way by 
the smell, but don’t waste time in talking, for I 


244 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


want to reach more open ground before dark. 
Where we’re heading there is a big tract of very 
open ground leading within a mile of the river, 
where the trees close up again. You remember, we 
came through it this morning — but perhaps you did 
not notice. Men don’t in forests, but to me a thin- 
ning of the trees that would not be very noticeable 
to ordinary folk is as sure an indication as a street 
would be.” 

“Go ahead,” said Macquart. 

At sundown they paused to rest and partake of 
some food. 

“Well,” said Macquart, as he ate, “we have got 
our arms free at last; it’s all plain before us now, 
unless those chaps work their way out of that booby- 
trap ; if they do and if they catch up with us, well — 
they’ve got the guns.” 

Wiart said nothing for a moment; he was busy 
eating. Then he said: 

“You needn’t worry. Leave that to them. 
They’ll have enough of it before they are done. 
Besides, if they did manage to get out, what are 
they to say? Is it our fault that they lost them- 
selves?” 

“I tell you this,” said Macquart. “That chap 
Hull wouldn’t stop to ask whose fault it was. There 
wouldn’t be the least, little bit of good in putting 
up a defence. He’d shoot, and shoot on sight. I 
know him. 1 here wouldn’t be any use saying to 
him, ‘It’s not our fault,’ or trying to make excuses.” 

“Well,” said Wiart, “when he gets out of that 


THE TREASURE 


245 

place he’s at liberty to do as he chooses, as far as 
I’m concerned. I’m not afraid.” 

They resumed their way, now beneath the star- 
light and the glow of the rising moon. 

The forest glowed green to the moonlight, the 
green of the deep sea cave to which penetrates a 
few rays of the sun; the loops of the liantasse and 
the lianas sagging from the tree boles shewed like 
ropes, and the orchids clinging to them like marine 
growths. The monkeys, knowing by some instinct 
that they were unarmed, pursued them, pelting them 
with nuts and bits of stick, but they did not even 
look up. 

A little before midnight they reached the river, 
and skirting the village they came down to the land- 
ing-stage. Here Macquart, having fetched the pick 
and shovel from the tent, waited whilst Wiart went 
to the house to collect what money he had there 
and to fetch his rifle. 

By the stage was moored the boat, and near the 
boat a canoe. It was Saji’s. 

“We’re in luck,” said Macquart. “I was fear- 
ing that the boat might have been taken off by some 
one or gone adrift. It’s just the sort of thing that 
might happen to spoil everything — but it hasn’t.” 

“If by any chance they get out of that place,” said 
Wiart, “they might follow us in that canoe — there’s 
just room for three in it.” 

“Leave that to me,” said Macquart. 

He went to the canoe and untied the grass-rope 
painter that held it to the stage, then bringing the 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


246 

canoe up, he followed his companions into the boat 
and they pushed off. 

Canoe and boat floated out into the current, and 
Macquart, who had shipped the stern oar whilst 
Wiart took the bow, did not perceive a dark form 
half start from the bushes of the landing-stage and 
then take cover again. 

Macquart, by his seizure of the canoe, had won 
the second move in this game he was playing against 
Fate. But he did not know it. He was quite un- 
aware of the fact that he had been recognised by 
the woman who had been waiting fifteen years for 
his return, or that he had been followed by Saji. 
He recognised nothing and cared for nothing now 
but the fact that his object was nearly accomplished. 

Half a mile down the river he stopped rowing, 
and ordering Jacky, who was in the stern sheets, 
to haul the canoe up by its tow rope, he scuttled it, 
capsizing it with the help of the out-rigger. 

It sank like a bottle, and the boat resumed its 
way. 

The river vaguely decked with mist lay under 
the moon, making a fairy-like picture as it flowed 
by the chanting, moon-stricken forests. Great bats 
passed them, fouling the air, and the splash of a 
jumping fish now and then cast rings across the 
water. Now and then a great white feathery moth 
circled around them like a fragment of mist, and 
vanished as though dissolved. 

With the oars and the current, they were mak- 
ing five knots, so that, allowing for rests on the 
way, they reached the lagoon opening in less than 


THE TREASURE 


247 


two hours. The Barracuda was lying just as she 
had been left, berthed by the trees on the banks. 
A horde of little monkeys were camped on board 
her, but they had done no harm and at the sight 
of the approaching boat they scuttled away, taking 
to the tree branches, from where they observed the 
doings of the newcomers. 

Macquart brought the boat alongside, and they 
scrambled on board, where on the deck Wiart col- 
lapsed, declaring himself fagged out. 

“I must turn in and have a bit of sleep,” said 
he. “I’ve been at it now since yesterday morning 
and I’m not as young as I used to be. There’s no 
use in spoiling the job by over-haste. Those chaps 
are fixed, even if they escape they have no boat to 
follow us with, so where’s the use in us killing our- 
selves?” 

“All right,” said Macquart. “I’ll give you four 
hours. It’ll be near sunrise by then. As for my- 
self, I can’t sleep.” 

They opened the hatch and went below, where 
Wiart tumbled into a bunk and was soon snoring. 

Macquart had lit the swinging lamp, and he sat 
now under it at the cabin table, smoking. 

There were food and drink in plenty to his hand, 
but he touched neither. He wanted no support or 
stimulant. He wanted nothing but just to sit and 
smoke and dream. 

He had succeeded. He possessed the Barracuda 
and two hands to help work her. Half a million 
of money in gold lay only waiting to be shipped, 


248 THE GOLD TRAIL 

and he had settled the score between himself and 
Hull. 

The hatred of Macquart for Hull was a passion 
indicative of the man’s nature. Hull had never done 
half as much injury to him as he had done to 
Hull. The way Hull had manhandled him on 
board the Barracuda would, one might have thought, 
been sufficient to account for this hatred; as a mat- 
ter of fact, whilst strengthening it, it had no con- 
nection with its cause. 

He hated Hull because the latter had turned up 
in Sydney just at the moment when he had tri- 
umphed over all obstacles. It was the intrusion 
of his past at the psychological moment when his 
new future was forming. Hull was the concrete 
expression of all Macquart’s failures, wretchedness, 
crimes and general disabilities. He was also, of 
course, a possible sharer of profits, but the latter 
fact was less than the former, and the bad soul 
of Macquart rose against him from its most utter- 
most and powerful depths. 

This being so, imagine his feelings when Screed 
sprang Hull upon him at the moment of starting. 
Hull, from whom he fancied he had escaped! 

Well, he had paid Hull out; he had disposed of 
Tillman and Houghton; there remained only Screed, 
Screed waiting quietly at Sydney to gobble half the 
profits of the expedition. 

He determined in his own mind that this should 
not be. Screed in his cleverness imagined that he« 
had a tight hold on the expedition for the simple 
reason that to dispose of the findings without risk 


THE TREASURE 


249 

of exciting suspicion and enquiry, a “fence” was 
needed. A rich and well-to-do business man with 
business connections and a banking account. But 
Screed had never dreamed of Wiart. Wiart, de- 
spite his drinking habits and his position as a factor, 
had large connections in the Dutch Settlements, and 
a dark scheme was now evolving in the mind of 
Macquart by which these connections might be ex- 
ploited without Wiart having a finger in the pie. 
A drunkard can never be trusted. Wiart would have 
to go; but he might be made very good use of be- 
fore he was extinguished. 

Jacky would have to go at the last when he had 
done his work. The gold was imperative in its 
terrible demands. No witness must be left of the 
whole of this business. 

So deep in thought was Macquart that he did 
not notice the passing of time. It might be said 
that he slept a sleep that was full of dreams. 

Rousing from it, he stood up and stretched him- 
self. Then he turned and looked at Wiart, who 
was lying in the bunk breathing heavily, with his 
mouth half open. 

Macquart smiled as he looked at the helpless fig- 
ure before him; then he turned and lit the stove 
to make some coffee, and when that was done he 
set out some biscuits and canned meat. He let 
Wiart sleep till the last moment possible. Then 
he awakened him. 

Wiart roused himself up, yawned and looked 
about him. He did not recognise his whereabouts 


2 5 ° 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


for a moment. Then, when he came fully to his 
senses, he put his leg over the bunk edge. 

“I was dreaming that I was tangled up in that 
thorn scrub,” said he; “couldn’t get my bearings no- 
ways.” He rubbed his eyes, got on to the floor and 
came to the table. 

“Where’s the black fellow?” he asked. 

“Jacky? Up on deck. He’ll be cooking himself 
some breakfast in the galley. I made this coffee 
over the methylated stove so as not to be bothered 
with him.” 

Wiart drank his coffee. 

“And now,” said he, “I suppose there’s nothing 
to do but go for that location of yours and get 
the stuff on board.” 

“Nothing. But we must take the yawl across 
the lagoon first.” 

“How’s that?” 

“Because the stuff is buried on the other side.” 

“Oh, Lord!” said Wiart. “We’ll have to tow 
her.” 

“That’s about it.” 

“And why in the nation didn’t you anchor on the 
other side to begin with?” 

“For the very good reason that the ship was 
sunk on the other side and I didn’t want those 
chaps to see her bones. But they did, all the same. 
Two of them went cruising about the lagoon in the 
boat and spotted the burnt timbers sunk by the 
bank over there. I thought for a moment it was 
all up, but the fools never suspected. They came 


THE TREASURE 


251 

back with the yarn that they had found a wreck 
under the water, and they never suspected.” 

“D — n asses,” said Wiart. “She was burnt, you 
said?” 

“Yes.” 

“That chap Lant must have been a peach.” 

“He was.” 

“And to think that girl Chaya was his daugh- 
ter — well, she’s a chip of the old block, and I reckon, 
if she had any idea this stuff we’re after belonged 
to the father and if she knew we were on to it, 
she’d be after us.” 

Macquart moved uneasily. 

Chaya was the only hint of thac past which he 
still vaguely dreaded. He had seen nothing of her 
mother, scarcely anything of the Dyaks. Brave 
enough to go back to the scene of John Lant’s 
undoing, he had not been brave enough to make 
enquiries or go near the Dyak village. 

“Anyhow,” said he, “she doesn’t know. No one 
has any idea of the whereabouts of that stuff but 
myself. Well, if you have finished, let’s set to 
work.” 

They came on deck, where they found Jacky, who, 
as Macquart had surmised, was engaged on some 
food he had cooked for himself in the galley. They 
waited until he had finished, and then they landed 
and cast off the hawsers. Then they fixed the warp 
for towing. This done, they rowed across the la- 
goon to the opposite bank to find a suitable berth. 

The day was strong now in the sky, and when 
they reached the opposite bank, they could see 


252 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


vaguely outlined in the water beneath the boat, the 
bones of the T erschelling like the ghost of a black 
skeleton. 

“She was a big ship,” said Wiart, who seemed 
fascinated by the sight below. 

“Fairly big,” said Macquart. “There’s her stern. 
Well, we’ll bring the yawl over and moor her abaft 
the stern; that camphor tree marks the position.” 

They rowed back, took up the warp and began 
towing. The Barracuda came along easily enough. 
The difficulty was to bring her to her right position 
beside the bank. In doing this, they nearly got the 
boat stranded on the stern part of the wreck of 
the T erschelling, but they managed the job at last 
and as the rays of the sun began to strike strongly 
through the upper branches of the trees, they had 
her in position, moored stem and stern. 

“Now,” said Macquart, “for the digging.” 

His cheeks showed a flush above the beard, and 
his eyes were brilliant with excitement. There was 
a spare mattock on board, and this was brought 
on shore, also a compass and three mat baskets. 

Jacky and Wiart shouldered the pick and the 
two mattocks, Macquart carried the compass. He 
took a line leading due south from the stern of 
the wreck and led the way straight into the forest. 
He led them for a hundred yards or so, and then 
stopped for a moment, glancing about him and seem- 
ing to listen. It was as though he were fearful 
of their being followed or surprised. But there 
was no sound other than the crying of the parrots, 


THE TREASURE 


253 

the wind in the trees, and now and then cutting 
through the air the rasping call of a cockatoo. 

Macquart led on. 

And now the trees began to thin out and then, 
suddenly, the ground rose before them, forming a 
little hill on which nothing grew except a few trees 
like the pandanus, but bearing no fruit. 

The hill was evidently formed by an uprising of 
the same strata to which the Pulpit Rock at the 
entrance of the river, in some mysterious way, be- 
longed, for from the hilltop broke two rocks, in 
structure exactly like the Pulpit, though each of 
them was not more than six or seven feet in height. 

They were situated thirty feet, or more, apart. 
When Macquart reached the space between these 
rocks, he sat down on the ground as if exhausted. 
Wiart, standing beside him and glancing round, 
noticed that the elevation of the hill gave him a 
view far over the trees to southward, whilst the 
trees to northward barred all view of the river. 

The ground to the south was, in fact, covered 
mostly by low-growing mangroves feeding their 
roots in marshy land and reaching to the coast ridge, 
where the foliage of other trees barred the view 
of the sea. 

“Well,” said Wiart, “how much further have we 
to go?” 

“We are on the spot,” said Macquart. He struck 
his hand, palm downward, on the ground as he 
spoke. 

“Good,” said Wiart. 

He put his mattock down and took his seat be- 


254 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


side Macquart, whilst Jacky stood by holding the 
spare mattock and pick and gazing round him, with 
eyes wrinkled against the sunshine, at the far 
stretches of mangrove forest over which was hang- 
ing a vague blue haze. 

Jacky belonged to the primitive order of things. 
Amongst all native races you will find specimens 
of manhood that seem still clung about by the at- 
mosphere of the stone age. I am not so sure that 
you will not find these specimens of humanity also 
in the Highly Civilised world, but in the native peo- 
ples the fact is more striking because the specimens 
are more ingenuous and unvarnished. 

Jacky — I have left his full description till now — 
was a man standing six feet in height and exceed- 
ingly powerful in make and build. Tillman said 
that he had the strength of three men, and Tillman 
scarcely exaggerated his facts when he made this 
statement. Yet, despite his strength and his height, 
one did not think of this individual as a man; one 
thought of him more as a child. For one thing, his 
mind was primitive almost to childishness, for an- 
other his movements were lithe and supple and rapid 
as the movements of a boy. 

In this superb animal dwelt a mind that seemed 
light and shallow and restless as the mind of a 
bird. A mind engaged always with little immediate 
things. Not an evil mind, but a mind so unspecu- 
lative and mobile that it could be moved towards 
evil or good by any determined intelligence that 
chose to grapple with it. 

Jacky had shouted at a Salvation Army meeting, 


THE TREASURE 


255 


had been exhibited, like a vegetable, as a fine speci- 
men of what earnest Christian endeavour could do 
working in primitive soil, had broken a man’s head 
in during a row in Tallis Street, had saved a boy’s 
life from a shark in Lane Cove, helped in a bur- 
glary — anything that came along was good enough 
for Jacky, and it all depended on circumstance and 
external pressure as to the manner in which he 
would act. 

Tillman had engaged him for the expedition and 
was his real master, but he had never paused to 
ask himself questions as to what had become of Till- 
man and the others, or whether they had been be- 
trayed. He took Macquart’s lead just as the Barra- 
cuda took the lead of the tow rope, and he stood 
now gazing about him with no thought of anything 
except whatever vague thoughts the scene around 
him inspired. 

Macquart, after a moment’s rest, rose to his feet 
and seized the pick. 

There was about the whole of this business some 
touch of the enchantment which hangs around the 
story of Aladdin alone with the Eastern magician 
on that desolate plain above the treasure cave. 

Wiart felt it as he stood watching Macquart, 
who, now pale and perspiring, stripped of his coat 
and handling the pick, seemed for a moment para- 
lysed, vacillating, filled with indecision and, one 
might almost have fancied, fear. 

It seemed impossible now, at the supreme mo- 
ment, to believe that the treasure was really here. 
This thing that had haunted him for fifteen years, 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


256 

pursued him about the world, held him away from 
it by fear and drawn him towards it by desire, had 
become for him an obsession, almost a religion. It 
was the embodiment of all his desires, the reverse 
of the medal struck by a Deity that had condemned 
him to a life of failure and crime. Here at last 
was to be glimpsed all that he had missed, all that 
he had failed to reach, all that he had seen from 
a distance, all that he had envied. 

Macquart was no little man. He might have been 
a great man but for the fatal flaws in his char- 
acter. He was fundamentally defective. Drunken- 
ness, vice, laziness — all these may be outgrown, lived 
down, lived over, all these may be simply functional 
diseases of the soul to be cast aside as the soul ex- 
pands and comes to its own. But the disease of 
Macquart was a crookedness in the grain and tex- 
ture of his mind, a want, a blindness to the right 
and wrong of things, a negative ferocity that be- 
came positive when his desires were checked or ex- 
cited. His fit of indecision and hesitation did not 
last many moments before, raising the pick, he set 
to work. 

The ground was hard on the surface, but a few 
inches below it was soft sandy soil that promised 
easy work for the mattocks. 

Working methodically, he broke the ground over 
an area of some ten or fifteen square feet. Then, 
dropping the pick, he called to Wiart to help and 
they set to work at the digging. The point he had 
chosen was almost exactly midway between the two 
rocks, and they dug without a word, silently, furi- 


THE TREASURE 


257 


ously, making the soil fly to right and left, whilst 
Jacky now and then lent a hand, relieving the ex- 
hausted Wiart. 

After twenty minutes’ toil, they paused from pure 
exhaustion. Then they resumed work again, work 
the most terrible ever undertaken by man. When 
the shovel begins to bring up despair, the treasure 
digger knows exactly the measure of his task and 
not before. Macquart labouring, pale as a corpse, 
hollow-eyed and with his mouth gaping, had paused 
for a moment when Wiart, who had retaken the 
mattock from Jacky, struck something, lifted his 
shovel, and then with a cry as though he had un- 
earthed some terrible object, cast the contents of 
the shovel on the ground. He had brought up a 
spadeful of coins, broken wood, like the wood from 
which cigar-boxes are made, and earth. The golden 
coins were scarcely tarnished. 

Macquart spoke not a word. He was standing 
with his mattock in his hand, his eyes fixed alter- 
nately on the find and on Wiart, who was now kneel- 
ing pointing to the gold and looking up at him. 

He did not seem for a moment to comprehend 
what had happened and then, all of a sudden, he was 
on his knees, laughing like a lunatic and delving 
his hands in the place where the mattock had struck. 
Fistfuls and fistfuls of gold coins he brought up, 
holding them out in his wide-open palm for Wiart 
to look at, whilst Wiart, with his arm round Mac- 
quart’s neck, half demented, inarticulate, and crow- 
ing like a child, picked up coins and threw them 
down. 


258 THE GOLD TRAIL 

It was a terrible picture of momentary mental 
overthrow. 

A huge bird passing overhead trailed its shadow 
across them, and Macquart with a cry cast his arm 
over the stuff he had been delving with his naked 
hand, and glanced up. He saw the bird, and as if 
this incident had brought him back to reason, he 
sat up, brushed the soil from his hands and pushed 
his hair back from his forehead. 

“It’s half in English coin and nearly half in 
French,” he said. “God! to think it’s here. 
There’s some Dutch coin. It’s all packed in boxes 
— so big.” He held his hands a foot and a half 
apart. “You have broken one of the boxes; look, 
here’s the wood. Pretty rotten it is. We must be 
careful how we go. Why, d — n it, we’ve already 
lost hundreds of dollars by your carelessness; look 
at the way you’ve flung those sovereigns about!” 
He picked up an Australian sovereign, light yellow 
like brass; he held it between his finger and thumb 
whilst he spoke. He seemed not to be able to let 
it go. He could not escape from the fascination 
of the thing or from the idea that he was in pos- 
session of a bank where these things lay in thou- 
sands, thousands, thousands. As he talked, he 
rubbed it on his left hand as if wishing to feel 
its existence with a new set of nerves. Wiart, with 
swollen face and the dazed look of a man who has 
been drinking, listened in a careless way and laughed 
at the other’s reproaches. 

“We’ll pick ’em up,” said he. “Where’s the use 
of bothering? Suppose we lose one or two, will 


THE TREASURE 


259 


that make us any the poorer? What we’ve got to 
do now is to cart the stuff down to the boat. Lucky 
we brought those baskets.” 

He rose and, taking one of the mat baskets, began 
to collect the coins, sifting them from the earth 
in which they lay. Macquart helped, whilst Jacky, 
squatting on his hams, held the basket wide open. 

It took a long time to collect all the loose coins 
in view, and then Macquart, with his sleeves rolled 
up and just as a person breaks up honeycomb, delved 
with his hand in the remains of the box they had 
broken open and extracted by handfuls the last of 
its contents. 

“There are hundreds more boxes,” said Mac- 
quart, sitting back and wiping his brow, “hundreds 
and hundreds. We brought them up in sacks, the 
whole crew working double shifts. Tons and tons 
of gold. The English stuff is atop, the French and 
Dutch below.” 

“Let’s go steady now,” said Wiart. “No more 
spade work, we’ll dig ’em up with our hands and 
so avoid breaking them. They’re all packed close 
together, I suppose?” 

“Side by side,” replied Macquart. 

Kneeling opposite to one another, the two men 
began carefully to remove the earth, till the whole 
top of the second gold box was uncovered. It 
seemed solid, though the metal bindings at the cor- 
ners were black with rust. Working it loose very 
gently, Macquart got one hand under it for the 
purpose of lifting it, when the whole thing burst 


26 o 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


to pieces and the coins came tumbling out in a 
jingling cataract. 

“Curse it,” said Wiart; “this is going to give 
us trouble.” 

It did. Had the boxes not been rotten with age, 
the transportation of the gold to the lagoon bank 
would have been a difficult business, but feasible. 
As it was, the handling and collecting of all this 
loose stuff was an appalling task, the significance 
of which was just beginning to loom before them. 
But it did not daunt them. They set to work, 
and in less than half an hour they had collected 
every loose coin, and the two baskets containing 
the first of the treasure were ready for transpor- 
tation. Then they found that one basket was more 
than one man could carry if it were to be brought 
any distance — that is to say, for a white man. Jacky 
made no difficulty at all about carrying one, yet 
even for him it was a maximum load. They settled 
the difficulty by carrying a basket between them 
with the help of the pick shaft through the handles, 
Jacky following with the other. They left Wiart’s 
rifle and ammunition, which they had brought with 
them, by the cache, and started. 

There was no difficulty in finding the way; be- 
fore they had covered half the distance, the shim- 
mer of the lagoon led them through the trees, but 
when they reached the Barracuda they were so ex- 
hausted by all they had gone through and by the 
weight of their load that they sat down for a mo- 
ment to rest before completing the business. 

“This stuff will finish us before we’ve done with 


THE TREASURE 


261 


it,” said Wiart. “Good Lord! I never did work 
like this before. Look at me ! I’m wringing wet.” 

“Jacky,” said Macquart, “hop on board and fetch 
us a jug of water; bring a bottle of gin and a glass 
with you — we’ve earned a drink.” 

Jacky, leaving his basket on the bank, climbed 
over the rail of the Barracuda , went to the saloon- 
hatch, paused for a moment to sniff, as if he smelt 
something for which he could not account. Then 
he began to go down the companion-way. He had 
not taken four steps down the ladder when he sud- 
denly vanished as though snatched below, and a 
scream, heart-rending and appalling, pierced the air. 
Then came a muffled cry, the sound of a struggle and 
silence. The two men on the bank sprang to their 
feet and stared at one another in terror. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE HORROR IN THE HATCHWAY 

W ITH the sound of the struggle the Barracuda 
had rocked slightly, sending a ripple out 
over the smooth surface of the lagoon. She now 
lay perfectly still. 

“It’s those chaps that have escaped and got on 
board her,” said Wiart. “They’re hiding there and 
waiting for us.” 

“Not they,” said Macquart. “It’s something else. 
It’s maybe natives.” He was white to the lips and 
small wonder, for nothing could be more sinister 
or devilish than the way in which Jacky had van- 
ished, as though the Barracuda had snatched him 
into her maw. Then, suddenly, Macquart turned 
to the other. 

“Off with you back and fetch the rifle,” said he. 
“I’ll stay here and watch. Quick, there’s no time 
to be lost.” 

Wiart turned and started off amidst the trees, and 
Macquart, withdrawing a bit, stood leaning against 
a tree bole with his eyes fixed on the Barracuda . As 
he stood like this, waiting and listening, a crash came 
from the cabin of the yawl. It was the crash of 
crockery ware upset and broken and it only wanted 
262 


HORROR IN THE HATCHWAY 263 

that and the dead silence that followed to put a cap 
on the horror. 

Natives would not carry on in this way. If they 
had seized Jacky and killed him, they would not 
remain in dead silence. 

Minute after minute passed and then a soft 
sound from behind him made Macquart turn. It 
was Wiart with the rifle. 

“There’s some one on board,” said Macquart, in 
a low voice. “There’s just been a big upset in the 
cabin. One of us has got to board her and have 
a look down the hatch whilst the other stands by 
ready to shoot if any one comes up. We’ve got to 
see this thing through, and quick.” 

“Well, I’d rather you went aboard than me,” said 
Wiart. “I’m no coward, but this thing gets me. 
It’s not natural.” 

“Natural or unnatural, we’ve got to finish with 
it,” replied the other. “We have no time to waste. 
There’s the gold lying waiting to be taken aboard 
and here are we waiting like fools. It’s not a pleas- 
ant job, but we’ll draw lots.” 

He plucked two blades of grass of unequal length, 
held them in his closed hand and held his hand to 
Wiart. 

“Whoever draws the longest goes,” said he. 

Wiart drew a blade, then they compared the 
blades. Wiart’s was the longest. 

He was no coward, yet he held back just for a 
moment. Then, picking up his courage and handing 
the rifle to his companion, he walked straight to the 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


264 

yawl, boarded her, and, without a moment’s hesita- 
tion, came to the open saloon hatch. 

He peeped cautiously down, then turned towards 
Macquart and shook his head to indicate that he 
saw nothing. 

Then, shading his eyes with his hand, he looked 
down again. 

He left the saloon hatchway and came to the 
skylight; this was closed, however, and could only 
be opened from below, whilst the thick glass pre- 
vented any view being obtained of the interior. 

He was fiddling with the skylight in a stupid sort 
of attempt to open it, when, suddenly, from the sa- 
loon hatch appeared a vast hand that seemed cov- 
ered by a black woollen glove. It grasped the comb- 
ing and almost immediately, squeezing up through 
the hatch opening, came the head, shoulders and 
chest of an enormous ape. 

It was the great monkey of New Guinea. A crea- 
ture as large as the gorilla, yet far more human and, 
strange to say, more malevolent at all events in ap- 
pearance. The gorilla impresses itself upon the 
mind of the gazer at once as a monkey, but the great 
ape of New Guinea takes his frightfulness from 
the fact that the idea “man” connects itself with 
the vision of him, not “monkey.” 

He is like a great ruffian man gone to neglect in ‘ 
the primaeval woods, his humanity clinging to him 
like a shame. 

Macquart was so astonished by this apparition 
that he did not even call out to Wiart, and Wiart, 
who was still engaged in wrestling with the sky- 


HORROR IN THE HATCHWAY 265 

light, did not see the object that had appeared on 
deck till a faint sound made him turn. 

He had picked up a belaying pin to help him in 
his work, and now, as he stood facing the Horror 
that had materialised itself at such a short distance 
from him, his hand, unfortunately for himself, in- 
stead of releasing the iron pin, clutched it spas- 
modically. It is quite possible that the brute might 
not have touched him. Creeping along by the bank 
and finding the Barracuda, it had boarded the yawl 
for the purpose of exploring it. Down below, it 
had been on the point of coming up when Jacky 
made his appearance on the saloon ladder. Then, 
sure that all this was a trap and Jacky the setter 
of it, the great monkey had seized the intruder by 
the leg, hauled him down, and finished him. Again 
it had been on the point of making its escape when 
the sound of Wiart coming on board had made it 
pause. Then, hearing the fumbling at the skylight 
and seeing a fair way up the companion ladder, 
up it came and another moment might have taken 
it off over the side had not Wiart, in a paroxysm 
of terror, hurled the belaying pin. 

It struck the brute full in the mouth. Then Mac- 
quart, who had raised his rifle to his shoulder, but 
who dared not fire, so tremulous was his hand 
and so close together the antagonists, saw the mon- 
key seize the man and hold him out with both hands 
as a furious mother might seize a naughty child. 
It shook him. 

It did not seem to do anything more than that, 


266 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


and then it was gone, and Wiart was lying on the 
deck hiccoughing. 

He hiccoughed several times and put his hand 
to his side as if it pained him. He did not speak 
or take any notice of Macquart. His mind seemed 
dulled or far away. Then, all of a sudden, as Mac- 
quart boarded the yawl, Wiart turned on his back. 

He was dead. 

Macquart stood looking from the corpse at his 
feet to the spot where the monkey had disappeared 
into the trees. 

He did not seem to understand fully for a mo- 
ment what had happened. In fact, he did not 
realise fully that Wiart was dead till, kneeling down 
beside him, he raised his arm and dropped it. Then 
all at once the truth broke on him. The terrible 
truth. 

He did not care a button for the life of Wiart. 
The life of Wiart was of no more concern than 
the buttons on Wiart’s coat. What concerned him 
greatly was the fact that, if Jacky were dead be- 
low or seriously injured, he — Macquart — would be 
helpless. Even if he could get the Barracuda out 
single-handed, how could he tackle single-handed 
the transport of the gold? This thought occurred 
to him, but he did not appreciate the true signifi- 
cance of it yet. 

He released Wiart’s arm, rose up and approached 
the saloon hatchway. 

For a moment he stood listening, then he called 
down the hatch to Jacky, but received no answer. 


HORROR IN THE HATCHWAY 267 

Down below there was absolute stillness, a silence 
accentuated by the faint buzzing of flies. 

Then Macquart came down. The body of Jacky 
was lying right across the table with its head over- 
hanging the end opposite to the door. The swing- 
ing lamp had been swept away and a tray of glasses 
and crockery-ware lay smashed on the floor. Other- 
wise there was little sign of confusion or struggle, 
but there was in the air a faint, vague odour of 
wild beast that caught Macquart by the throat and 
made the soul in him revolt. 

Jacky was quite dead. 

Macquart opened the skylight by means of the 
lever and the fresh air of day came down so that 
one could breathe. 

The immediate problem now before Macquart 
was the disposal of Jacky* s body. It could not be 
left here. It must be got overboard. He proceeded 
to the task and found, after ten minutes’ labour, 
that it was utterly beyond him. With the greatest 
difficulty he managed to pull and drag the body to 
the foot of the companion-way, but he could not get 
it up. After all sorts of fruitless endeavours, he 
paused to think. He could think of nothing. The 
only way to bring it up was with a tackle, but that 
would require not only a man to haul on the pur- 
chase, but a man to guide the body. Besides, he had 
not the means nor the skill. He sat down for a 
moment on the edge of a bunk. He was thinking, 
not of the body lying at his feet, but of the gold. 

This was the beginning of a nightmare business. 
Gold! Gold! Gold! Tons of it waiting to be 


268 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


lifted and deported, a dead man lying on the cabin 
floor of the yawl, another on the deck, and one 
man with only one pair of hands left to face the 
task. 

Even were he to get the gold aboard, how could 
he put to sea with that corpse in the cabin? It 
was very problematical if he could get the Barra- 
cuda out at all, single-handed as he was, but even if 
it were possible how about this dreadful supercargo ? 

Even if he were to store the gold in the fo’c’sle 
and tiny hold and close up the cabin hermetically, 
sealing hatch and skylight, how could he steer for 
any port? There would at once be an enquiry and 
an examination of the boat; even if he were to re- 
turn to Sydney, the port officer who boarded him and 
who was refused entry to the cabin would very soon 
have the rights of the matter. 

The corpse of Jacky acted on him much as the 
whaleman’s drogue acts upon the harpooned whale. 
He could not escape from it and it was bound to 
ruin him in the end — even if he managed to get the 
gold on board. 

But Macquart’s brain just now was not in a con- 
dition to recognise clearly or weigh exactly. Hav- 
ing sat for a minute or so on the edge of the bunk, 
he rose up and came on deck. 

Here the first thing he saw was the body of Wiart 
lying just as he had left it — but — there was a bird 
circling in the air above it and already one of the 
eyes was gone! 

In this terrible climate to be dead and be devoured 
are synonymous terms. 


HORROR IN THE HATCHWAY 269 

Macquart stared at the sight before him. Then 
he tried to get Wiart overboard. It was a most 
terribly difficult business. Wiart did not seem to 
want to go in the least; once or twice when he 
slipped back on to the deck, just as Macquart had 
almost got him over the rail, his face in the full 
glare of the sun shewed a grin as if he were derid- 
ing the efforts of the other. The injury to the eye 
gave him the appearance of having just fought with 
some one, his clothes were in disorder, his collar 
half off, and his necktie all askew. From a distance, 
as Macquart recommenced the business of trying to 
get him over, it looked as though a drunken man 
were being ejected from the Barracuda. This time 
Macquart was successful and the body went over 
and floated off on the current that flowed riverwards 
past the yawl. 

It was an hour after noon now and Macquart, 
who had not eaten since dawn, felt faint from his 
exertions and from want of food. Leaving aside 
this feeling, he was afflicted with a slight confusion 
of thought or rather want of power in co-ordinating 
his thoughts. 

He went into the galley and found the remains of 
the food left by Jacky that morning. In the locker 
on the right-hand side there was plenty more food. 
Biscuit tins and cans of preserved meat and vege- 
tables, condensed milk and so forth. 

Macquart ate, and as he ate his eyes roamed 
about hither and thither. He read the Libby and 
Armour labels on the meat cans and the measure of 
his extraordinary position might have been taken 


270 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


from the feeling of incongruity and strangeness with 
which these commonplace labels filled his mind. 

The place where he was seemed as remote from 
the ordinary world as Sirius. 

He could hear a faint chuckle now and then as 
the lagoon water lapped the planks and occasion- 
ally a faint groan from the rudder. There were all 
sorts of little facts about the lagoon that spoke in 
all sorts of little ways only to be distinguished and 
interpreted by a person who had nothing to do but 
listen. 

Thus the drift of the current was unequal in 
rapidity; sometimes a fairly strong swirl would lip 
the bow and swing the rudder to starboard a few 
inches, or a log would come along half-submerged 
and rub itself against the planking, or a faint bub- 
bling sound would tell of a spring blowing off its 
superfluous water in the lagoon floor. 

The lagoon, seemingly so dead and inert, was, 
in reality, always at work, fetching in driftwood 
from the river, expelling it again, raising or low- 
ering its level in some mysterious way independent 
of the sea tide or river flow, stopping up old well- 
heads on its floor, opening new ones, getting rid of 
all the detritus that a tropical forest hands to the 
water. 

Macquart sat for a while, after he had finished 
eating, listening to these vague and indeterminate 
voices ; then, though the gold was always in his mind, 
the recollection of the two baskets of treasure left 
on the bank came to him for the first time. 

He left the galley, landed, and seized the basket 


HORROR IN THE HATCHWAY 271 

that Jacky had laid down before going to his death. 
Then, struggling on board with it, he stood unde- 
cided as to what he should do. 

It was impossible to store anything in the cabin. 
He could not go down to that place again. There 
remained the hold and the fo’c’sle. He had never 
explored the little hold, but he knew the fo’c’sle; he 
came to the fo’c’sle hatch, paused a moment, and 
then, just as a person shoots coal into a cellar, he 
emptied the contents of the bag down it. He had 
no time to waste stowing this cargo whose horrible 
proportions in relation to his puny efforts were ever 
looming before him. It was like being in front of 
a great golden mountain that had to be removed 
piece by piece and in pocketfuls. Added to this 
fantastic labour would come — on its completion — 
the problem of escape from the lagoon in the Barra - 
cuda single-handed; added to this the terrible prob- 
lem of the disposal of Jacky’s remains. 

No man outside of Nightmare-land was ever con- 
fronted with such a position as that which faced 
Macquart, urged on by gold lust. 

In the grasp and under the whip of the gold 
demon, all the powers of his mind were subservient 
to the main desire. 

He turned now with the empty basket in his hand, 
regained the shore and came back with the other 
full basket, shot the contents down the fo’c’sle hatch, 
listened till the jingle of the last rolling coin ceased, 
and then flushed, breathing hard and full of new 
life and energy, started off, with both baskets rolled 
up under his arm, for the cache. 


272 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


Here, with one of the mattocks, he cleared the 
earth carefully away from the next treasure box 
and then, working with his hands, began to extract 
it. Work as carefully as he might, the rotten wood 
of the box sides broke to pieces and the coins fell 
about loose; he had no one to hold the basket open 
and he spent ten minutes in fruitless attempts to 
devise some method to keep the thing erect and 
yawning. 

Failing in this, he was condemned to hold it open 
with his left hand and fill it as best he could with 
his right. 

He succeeded finely in this way as long as the 
coins were in mass, but when it came to the last 
few hundred scattered loose, ah ! then the real trou- 
ble began. Every coin had to be picked up. His 
task-master saw to that. To leave one single golden 
coin ungathered was a physical impossibility, and 
it was during the picking up of these that Haste 
kept crying to him “speed” and Imagination kept 
painting the awful labours still before him. Every 
last coin of all that cache had to be removed, for 
each of these terrible things had a power as great 
as the mass. Each was a sovereign or a louis. 

Each represented four dollars or five dollars, and 
five dollars to Macquart, who had always known 
poverty, five dollars dressed in gold in the form 
of a sovereign, constituted a power against which 
there was no appeal. 

He whimpered as he picked amongst the soil, 
whimpered like a woman in distress. 

The heat of the day was great and the sun struck 


HORROR IN THE HATCHWAY 273 

heavy on him, all the time the sweat was pouring 
from him, and a thirst, tremendous as the thirst 
of fever, withered his soul. 

Then, when the last coin was salved, he took the 
basket carefully by both handles, rose to his feet 
and lifted it. 

He had intended to fill both baskets, but he had 
completely forgotten this intention, and indeed the 
present load was as much as he could carry — al- 
most more than he could carry. 

He had got halfway between the cache and the 
lagoon bank when one of the handles of the basket 
broke, the basket swung over and a torrent of coin 
fell with a noise like the rush of rain amidst the 
leaves and grass. 

A faint jingle told of coin striking coin, then 
nothing could be heard but the crying of the par- 
rots in the trees and the wind stirring the branches. 

Macquart carefully seized the basket by the edge 
on the side of the broken handle so that no more 
of the contents could escape, then he placed the 
basket by a tree trunk, then he proceeded to hunt 
for the lost treasure. He seemed quite unmoved 
by this disaster, but in reality he was stunned. It 
is not the weight that makes the last straw figure 
as the last straw, it is the psychological moment. 
This accident, that would have made Macquart 
swear earlier in the day, now made him dumb. 

Then, with what seemed a terrible patience, he 
went down on his knees and began to collect the 
coins. He stripped away the long leaves as well 
as he could and the ground vines. Here and there 


274 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


he could see the faint glint of a metal disc and 
wherever he saw one he pounced. The light was 
not very strong, on account of the foliage above, yet 
it was sufficient for his purpose. 

And now as he laboured on hands and knees, root- 
ing about like an animal, movements in the branches 
above became apparent and twenty little faces, some 
upside down, could be seen watching the worker 
with an earnestness ludicrous, yet somehow horrible. 

A monkey is a grin when it is not a grimace, and 
nothing can be imagined further removed from hon- 
est mirth than these incarnations of laughter — noth- 
ing certainly than these little faces amidst the leaves 
looking down at Macquart. 

Then one of them plucked a big, squashy-looking 
fruit from one of the branches and flung it. 

It hit Macquart in the small of the back and he 
sprang to his feet with a yell. The blow had been 
a sharp one, and coming unexpectedly there, where 
he fancied himself alone, the shock had badly upset 
his nerves. 

He glanced wildly about him. Then he saw his 
tormentors and shook his fist at them. 

His outcry had startled them, but they recognised 
at once that he was unarmed; they knew that he was 
angry and that they were the cause of his anger 
and they knew that he was impotent and the knowl- 
edge of all this filled them with joy. 

They pelted him now with little nuts whilst, pre- 
tending to ignore them, he went on his hands and 
knees again. As he worked, he placed the recovered 
coins in the side pocket of his coat. Then, as he 


HORROR IN THE HATCHWAY 275 

worked, something that was not a nut hit him on 
the brim of the hat which he had pushed back to 
save his neck — bounced over his shoulder and struck 
a broad leaf in front of him. It was a gold coin. 

He had made a great mistake in placing the 
basket by the tree trunk, for there was an air shoot 
hanging by the tree and, sliding down the air shoot, 
one of the monkey folk had captured the basket and 
its contents, spilling most of them on the way up. 

But there was enough left for ammunition, and 
Macquart, looking up, got a fistful of sovereigns in 
his face. He turned, saw that the basket was gone 
and then, forgetting that he was a man, with a 
howl of a wolf began to climb the tree that was 
nearest to him. As he climbed he shouted and 
swore at the creatures skipping above him, and the 
higher he climbed the higher they went. 

Then suddenly the branch he was climbing by 
broke and he fell, the next branch caught him, but 
only for a moment, before it snapped under his 
weight, delivering him over to the branch immedi- 
ately below. 

He clung to it, swinging by his hands twenty feet 
above the ground. 

The monkeys above, enraptured at this fine game 
that had been suddenly provided for them, pelted 
him, but he did not heed. 

He did not know how far the ground was be- 
neath him; he felt that he was at an enormous height 
in the air and that to fall would be sure death. 
He clung. He tried to work his way along the 
branch towards the bole; it was impossible; to do 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


276 

so he would have been forced to hang by one hand 
at a time and that was beyond his strength; besides, 
the branch had bowed beneath his weight. He knew 
that he could not go on clinging forever, that the 
fall must come certain and soon, yet his mind found 
room for fantastic thoughts. It seemed to him that 
the forest was in a conspiracy w T ith John Lant 
against him. Trees, monkeys, leaves, vines, lianas 
and birds, all were “setting on” him to rob him of 
his life; he saw himself swinging there, pelted by 
monkeys; the picture came to him as though it were 
the picture of another man. Then cramp seized him 
and he fell. 

The fall, so far from killing him, did not even 
break a bone, but he was half stunned, and he sat 
for a while with his hands to his head, whilst the 
world rocked and reeled beneath him and the mon- 
keys, who had descended limb by limb, pelted him 
and jibed at him as if to shew the boundless and tire- 
less malignity that life can tap through its creatures. 

Then, after a while, Macquart rose up. He 
stood for a moment as if undecided and then made 
off back towards the cache. He went half running, 
half stumbling, talking and muttering to himself in 
a crazy sort of way, defeated, beaten, yet still 
led by the gold that was destroying him. At the 
edge of the cache he sat down and began digging 
with his hands. He had brought the other basket 
up close beside him and as he burst another gold box 
open he began filling the basket, but his half-crazy 
mind was now so obsessed by the idea of the basket 
breaking that he did not load it with more than five 


HORROR IN THE HATCHWAY 277 

handfuls of coin and earth, for there was no thought 
now of sifting the coin from earth or earth from 
coin, only the overwhelming and overmastering 
thought of speed. 

Then, with a load that a child could have car- 
ried, he started off at a trot for the lagoon edge, 
discharged his burden into the fo’c’sle of the yawl 
and returned. 

So it went on, and when the sun sank and the 
stars broke out above he was still running, whim- 
pering like a child who is late on errand and fears 
a beating, heedless of the rushing monkeys that flit- 
ted above him like a breeze in the foliage, heedless 
of everything except the vast labour on which he 
was engaged — for he was not carrying gold now in 
his basket, but earth under the belief that he had 
to empty the whole world into the fo’c’sle of the 
Barracuda . 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE PIT TRAP 


, when he parted from Chaya after having 



^ seen Macquart and his party vanish in the 
thorn maze, made back for the river at a trot. 

It was a nine or ten hours’ journey from the river 
to the thorn, for Europeans cumbered with luggage. 
The return journey took Saji slightly over four 
hours. The runner who brought the news from 
Marathon to Athens would have had little chance 
in a long-distance race against Saji. 

Like a centipede, this man seemed to have a 
hundred pairs of legs at his service to be used a 
pair at a time, so that he might run forever, or at 
least till all were worn out; his lungs were practi- 
cally inexhaustible. 

It was towards ten o’clock when he reached the 
Dyak village, and there under the stars he met the 
old woman who was waiting for news. 

He told her everything. 

“So,” said she, “he has led them into the thorn 
city; that means he will come back, he and the other 
one; he will lead him to the hiding-place or he will 
destroy him before they get there. Now is your 
time to strike, but not till you have marked down 
the hiding-place.” 


278 


THE PIT TRAP 


279 


Saji nodded. 

“Where is Chaya?” asked the woman. 

“She is following after,” said Saji. “I came 
swiftly.” 

The old woman went to the hut where she lived 
and returned with something in her hands. It was 
a parang, a Dyak knife in a leather sheath. She 
held it out to Saji, but he shewed her that he was 
already possesed of one, taking it from his girdle 
and holding it before her in the starlight. 

“Give it to me and take this,” said she. “It be- 
longed to Lant ; it will know what is to be done and 
lead you.” 

Saji took the parang and placed it in his girdle. 
Then, with another word or two to the old woman, 
he started off through the trees. By the river bank 
he took up his position amongst the bushes at a 
point that gave him a good view of Wiart’s house 
and the landing-stage, then he squatted down to 
wait and watch. 

He was watching chiefly by means of his ears; 
his eyes told him little of what was going on around 
him beyond the span of river bank where the house 
stood. His ears told him much. He could hear 
the river, a sound made up of a thousand little 
sounds, from the weak voice of the water wash- 
ing bank and tree roots and landing-stage, to the 
splash of fish jumping in the distance. The smell 
of the river came with its voice, a smell of damp 
and decay, mixed with the musky perfume of river 
mud. 

Then, on the other hand, he could hear the voices 


280 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


of the forest, swept by the night wind. Hour after 
hour passed without lessening in the slightest the 
deadly vigilance of the watcher. He was thinking 
of Chaya. The success of this hunt would bring 
him Chaya. When he presented her with the gift 
of gifts she would be his. The old woman had said 
so. Chaya despised him as a monkey-slayer, she 
looked on him as a boy. When he proved himself 
a man in her eyes all would be different. 

Then, of a sudden, thought fled from him, and, 
feeling for the Punan stabbing spear at his side, he 
bent forward and remained rigid as a drawn bow. 
They were coming. He watched them as they 
parted, Wiart going to the house for his gun and 
Macquart going to the tent. Then they appeared 
again, coming along down to the landing-stage, Mac- 
quart leading the way, Jacky and Wiart following. 

They were going to take to the boat, and once 
they were off it would be a simple business to fol- 
low them in the canoe. 

He watched them arranging the boat, then he 
saw Macquart going towards the canoe. The boat 
pushed off and the canoe followed it. 

Then Saji, with a wildly bounding heart, saw that 
he had been tricked. These men whom he despised 
in his soul had been cleverer than he. Never for a 
moment had he dreamed that the canoe was in dan- 
ger, never for a moment had he fancied that their 
suspicions would have been raised against him. And 
now he found himself checkmated, rendered impo- 
tent, tricked, and put out of the game. 

He sprang up amongst the bushes, then he sank 


THE PIT TRAP 


281 


back again. To follow was impossible, to shew 
himself or call out might only lead to a shot from 
that rifle Wiart could use so well. 

He watched the boat vanish round the river bend, 
then he fell to thinking. 

There was not another canoe on the river, all 
the fishing Dyaks were at sea. The river was no 
use, so he dismissed it from his mind; the only road 
he could take was the river bank and he did not 
know the road in the least. 

He knew the forest, but he had never hunted 
along the river bank, though his hunts had some- 
times brought him out on the river-side. However, 
want of knowledge of this strip of the forest did 
not stay him in the least. The river would be his 
guide and, picking up his spear, he started. 

He did not know in the least where the boat was 
making for, he only knew that it had gone down 
stream and down stream he made his way. 

The road was easy at first, but presently it be- 
came bad, squashy and overgrown with mangroves. 
The mangrove root seems made by Nature as a 
trap for the foot, but Saji seemed to have eyes in 
his feet and he did not trip. He passed over this 
difficult ground as swiftly as through the easy parts 
of the forest, passed the belt of nipah palms that 
bordered it, and struck in to the region of cutch 
and camphor trees that lay beyond, always keeping 
in view the river on his right. 

Beyond the camphor trees came very easy ground. 
In the old days, when certain animals were more 
frequently met with in this part of the forest, they 


202 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


would come down to drink at the river just here, 
and this fact was to weave itself Into the texture of 
the story of Macquart in a most unexpected manner. 

Saji had not made twenty yards across this easy 
ground when the earth gave under his feet. He 
made a wild effort to save himself, failed, fell into 
the darkness, and lay half stunned for a moment 
and half smothered by the rush of earth and rubble 
that had followed him. 

He had fallen into a pit trap dug in the old days. 
A bottle-shaped cellar in the earth covered over with 
laths and clay and growing plants. The laths made 
of split bamboo had decayed long ago, but the fine 
roots of the plants held the clay together; it had 
consolidated and hardened, making a cellar top ca- 
pable of sustaining the weight of a small animal, but 
not the weight of a man. 

In the old days the bottom of the pit had been 
dressed with sharp bamboo stakes, points upwards. 
Fortunately for Saji time had rotted these to dust. 

He lay for a moment, then he sat up. He knew 
at once what had happened to him and the knowl- 
edge restored his faculties like a stimulant. Look- 
ing up, he could see above the faint light that indi- 
cated the ragged opening through which he had 
fallen. Then he rose to his feet and began explor- 
ing his prison with his hands held flat, palms against 
the walls. 

He was not long in discovering the exact shape of 
the trap, which was that of an inverted funnel. Hav- 
ing obtained this fact, he explored the texture of 
the walls. 


THE PIT TRAP 


283 

Rain had never come in here, the earth covering 
and more especially the leaf covering of the roof, 
coupled with the fact that the roof formed part 
of the gentle shelve of the bank to the river, had 
kept the place dry, and the walls were of hard 
earth, but not so hard as to be proof against the 
point of his spear. 

He had been carrying it aslant over his shoulder 
when he fell and he had not released his hold on 
it. It was the first thing he touched when recov- 
ering his full consciousness. 

Having explored the texture of the walls, he 
turned to the question of the depth of the trap. 
By standing on tiptoe he could just touch the foliage 
on the borders of the hole in the roof with the spear 
point. 

Having obtained all these facts, he crouched 
down on the floor of his prison to grapple with 
them. 

It was a terrible problem. No less than the prob- 
lem of escape from the interior of an inverted fun- 
nel whose walls were of hard earth. 

For a long time he crouched wrestling with it. 
Whoever had devised this trap must, in carrying 
out his plan, have expended no little time and en- 
ergy. The earth must have been drawn up in 
basketfuls, the delvers carefully broadening the base 
at the risk of an infalling of the walls. But the 
labours of the making of it were nothing to the la- 
bours of Saji wrestling with the result. 

Unable to hit upon any means in the least feasi- 
ble, he suddenly rose to his feet; as he did so some- 


284 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


thing touched him on his shoulder. It was the end 
of a ground liana that had been brought down by 
the spear head when he had explored the opening 
with it. The liana hung down like a rope; it was 
half an inch thick. It was salvation. 

Inverting the spear and pushing the point into 
the furthest recess of the pit, he managed to seize 
the butt with his teeth, so as to bring it up with 
him. Even in the overwhelming joy of finding an 
easy and rapid means of escape, he did not forget 
for a moment the necessity of taking the weapon 
with him. 

It was impossible to climb with it in his hands, 
and even now, holding the extreme end of the butt 
in his teeth, he had to keep his head bent with his 
chin on his chest as he climbed. This made the proc- 
ess more laborious and more lengthy; it produced 
all sorts of extra vibrations in the rope of liana; it 
was his undoing. His uppermost hand had reached 
within a foot of the opening when the liana broke. 

Instantly he must have — so to speak — spat out 
the spear butt, else it would have been driven 
through the roof of his mouth. As it was, he found 
himself lying on the floor of his prison with the 
spear across him. 

He was shaken, but quite unhurt, and the fall, 
instead of demoralising him, set him to wrestling 
again with the problem he had so nearly solved. 
Saji had fine qualities amongst his many defects, and 
the finest of them was patience under defeat, and 
steadfastness. The sea and the forest had educated 
these natural qualities inherited from those ancestors 


THE PIT TRAP 


285 

of his, who had tracked and trapped and fished since 
the beginning of time, ambushed their enemies after 
weeks of patient watching and secured their heads 
just as Saji hoped to secure the head of Macquart. 

That was the gift which would bring him Chaya, 
and, much as he valued life, that was the object 
for which he was striving now. 

Though he had no enmity against Macquart, the 
head of Macquart held him to its capture with a 
grasp stronger than the love of life. 

Saji had no enmity towards the animals he fol- 
lowed in the forest or the fish he followed in the 
sea, yet the pursuit of fish or beast life was noth- 
ing compared to the object of the chase. His busy 
mind, working now with the activity of a squirrel 
in a cage, suddenly struck upon a new idea. 

He began to attack the walls of his prison. Go- 
ing down on his knees and with his spear point, 
he began digging away at the clay as though en- 
deavouring to make the beginnings of a tunnel. 
Nothing was further from his thoughts than a tun- 
nel. He was digging to bring down earth. 

If he could bring down sufficient to make a pile 
high enough to allow him to stand on it and grasp 
the vegetation at the opening, he fancied that he 
could save himself. Had the pit been flooded with 
the cold, practical light of day, I doubt if he would 
have attempted the business. 

He worked with the spear point, and then, like 
a digging animal, with his hands. He worked con- 
stantly and methodically; he worked through the 
remainder of the night, through the dawn, and on 


286 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


into the day. Then he rested for some hours, and 
recommenced working through the evening. Before 
night fell, he had brought enough clay out of the pit 
side to make a mound three feet high in the centre. 
A tremendous amount considering the stiffness of 
the earth, and the fact that the higher the mound 
was built the broader spread its base. For every 
inch of altitude he had to broaden and thicken the 
base of this infernal mound. As a matter of fact, 
to escape by this way it would be necessary to fill 
the whole pit with clay. To come up on a rising 
tide of clay ! The thing was impossible. His labour 
had given him employment which, after liberty, is 
the best gift a prisoner can receive, but that was all. 

Now, with the darkness, he knew that he was lost, 
that all the digging he could do would not save him, 
and knowing that he sat down to die. Saji had a 
terrible philosophy of his own. Whilst capable of 
endless effort, he was a fatalist pure and simple 
when faced with the impossible or the inevitable. 

He did not moan to himself or curse his lot. He 
had to die — well, then, he had to die and there 
was no more to be said on the matter. He did not 
think, as he sat there, of all the pleasant days and 
good times he would never see again, simply be- 
cause such things were not for him. Blue skies to 
Saji were no more than blue skies to an India-rubber 
figure; sunshine was good because it warmed him 
and for no other reason. When it warmed him too 
much it was bad. Freedom was good because it 
allowed him to move about and kill things. Food 
was good because it filled his stomach and satisfied 


THE PIT TRAP 


287 

his desire for food. He had neither sunshine, free- 
dom, nor food here, but presently he would not need 
them. 

His mind retired into itself, folded up, almost 
ceased to exercise its functions. 

Long after dark, how long he could not possibly 
tell, Saji, seated in the darkness of his terrible prison, 
suddenly came to life and sprang erect with a shout. 

The sound of voices had come to him. Voices 
of human beings passing close to the pit mouth. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


NEMESIS 


HEN Hull and his companions reached the 



* * landing-stage and found the boat — as they 
expected — gone, they struck at once down stream, 
taking the exact path taken by Saji. 

You will observe that mechanism which Fate 
often displays in the fact that Macquart, in steal- 
ing the boat and so making his own position seem- 
ingly more secure, had, in reality, provided a re- 
lease for the death that was pursuing him in the 
form of Saji and which was trapped and held up 
in the pit. 

The party, passing along the river bank and 
hearing the call for help, stopped, made a search, 
discovered the trap mouth and soon had the pris- 
oner out. 

“Why, it’s one of those blessed Dyaks,” said 
Hull, “caught huntin’ in his own trap.” 

Houghton said nothing. He was looking at 
Chaya, who had gone up to Saji. Saji was standing 
feeling his joints and taking deep breaths of air, 
and Chaya was talking to him. 

“He wishes for food,” said she to the others, 
“and to go with us; his canoe has been taken from 
him. He would get it back.” 


NEMESIS 


289 

Hull had some biscuits in his pocket, which he 
produced, and Saji, after a rush to the river bank 
for a drink, joined in with the others. His strength 
and life had completely returned to him, and at the 
suggestion of Chaya, he took the lead, being a bet- 
ter woodsman than any of the rest with the excep- 
tion, perhaps, of herself. He had saved his spear. 
Even in the excitement of release he had not forgot- 
ten that, and he marched now ahead of them with 
the spear across his shoulder, leading the way, and 
piloting them much more quickly than if they had 
gone without him. Chaya and Houghton came last. 

“He is full of danger and he must not see us 
together,” murmured Chaya, whose hand Houghton 
was holding for a moment. “If he were to hear 
that , he would try to kill you.” 

“Let him,” said Houghton, laughing, but she re- 
leased her hand. She seemed full of fear of Saji, 
not for herself but for Houghton. Saji, however, 
had no eyes for anything but the road before him. 
Almost quicker than they could follow him, he went 
ahead so that dawn had little more than touched 
the skies above the tree-tops when they reached 
the lagoon bank. 

The first thing they saw was the Barracuda 
moored to the opposite bank, with the whole width 
of the lagoon between themselves and it. The Bar- 
racuda's boat was tied up beside the yawl. Not a 
sign was to be seen of Macquart or his companions. 

“Will you look at what the swabs have done?” 
cried Hull. “How in the nation are we to get 
across?” 


290 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


‘‘Thank God, the yawl’s not gone,” said Hough- 
ton. “That’s jhe main point. We’ll get across 
somehow. Let’s think.” 

Even as he spoke, in the vague light that was 
now filling the world, they saw a figure emerging 
from the trees on the opposite bank. It was Mac- 
quart. He was carrying something in his hand. 
They saw him board the yawl. 

“He’s carrying a basket,” said Tillman. “Look 
at him! He’s emptying it down the fo’c’sle hatch. 
By God, he’s found the cache and that’s the stuff 
he’s emptying into the Barracuda” 

“Looks like it,” said Hull, who was standing 
now on one foot and now on the other. “Oh, the 
swab! To see him and not be able to get me fin- 
gers in his hair. Come, boys, it’s round the lagoon 
or nothing. There ain’t no use in trying to swim, 
for the place is sure full of sharks. It’s a fifteen- 
mile tramp, but we’ll do it.” 

But Saji, who had been talking to Chaya, solved 
the difficulty in a quicker way. Plunging into the 
water and still carrying his spear, he struck out for 
the opposite bank. There were sharks here surely, 
but Saji had no fear of sharks. He had often swum 
amongst them. The Grey Nurse is the only shark 
really to be feared by the swimmer who takes care 
to beat the water as he goes, and there were none 
of these ferocious species in the lagoon or lower 
reaches of the river. Sydney Harbour seems to be 
their chief naval base and, though they cruise about 
the Pacific islands, they seem to give the New Guinea 
coast a wide berth. 


NEMESIS 


291 

They saw Macquart make off again among the 
trees with his basket; he evidently had not seen 
them, and then they saw Saji unmoor the boat. He 
brought it back, sculling it from the stern, and they 
crowded into her and in less than five minutes they 
were on the deck of the yawl. Hull made a dart 
for the fo’c’sle hatch and tumbled down it; then 
they heard him striking a match and then came his 
voice. 

‘‘Lord bless my soul ! The blighter’s been fillin’ 

her with clay ” Then a wild yell. “Suverins 

— suverins!” Silence and another match being 
struck. “There’s suverins all scattered on the clay.” 
He came tumbling up, his face blazing in the now 
strong daylight, and in one broad hand, which he 
opened wide, two sovereigns and some earth. 

“Did you ever see the like of that?” he cried. 
“Half a ton of clay the swab has shovelled aboard 
her with suverins all scattered on it. Where’s the 
sense in that? What’s he been doin’? Has he 
struck the cache or has he hasn’t? Look out, here 
he comes!” 

Macquart broke cover from the trees as he spoke, 
basket in hand and half running. He saw the men 
on the deck of the yawl, but did not notice them 
in the least. On board he came, brushed them aside, 
rushed to the fo’c’sle hatch and emptied his basket. 

They stood horrified. Macquart was no longer 
a man, though retaining a man’s image. He seemed 
like a beast in the last stages of pursuit. The saliva 
ran from the corners of his mouth, his breath came 
in sobs and sighs, his face was grey-brown as the 


292 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


earth he was carrying, and it was evident, now, that, 
although he did not recognise them in the least, he 
saw them as figures, for he avoided them as, empty 
basket in hand, he made again for the shore. 

Just as his foot touched the bank, Saji, who had 
landed, seized him by the arm. The effect was 
instantaneous and extraordinary. Macquart’ s mind, 
or what was left of it, dropped the idea that was 
fixed in it and seized upon the idea that he was being 
pursued and seized. With a movement swift as 
light he freed himself and dashed off among the 
trees, with the Dyak in pursuit. 

“Now we’re done proper!” cried Hull. “Cuss 
that nigger! If he’d left that chap alone, we could 
have followed him to the cache.” 

“We’ll find it without him,” said Tillman. “It 
can’t be far. Follow me, you chaps. See, there’s 
his marks. Why, dash it, he’s made a regular 
road.” 

They had landed, and, following Tillman, they 
made along Macquart’s tracks. Tillman was right. 
Macquart, in those endless journeys to and fro, 
had left a road. Trodden-down leaves and plants, 
broken lianas, spilt earth gave indications that re- 
quired no skill in tracking to follow, and when they 
reached the cache everything was plain. 

A burst gold-box lay exposing its contents to 
the now risen sun. Macquart had not touched it. 
Earth and gold were all the same to him. He 
who had to empty the world into the fo’c’sle of the 
yawl against time had no time to bother with trifles 


NEMESIS 


2 93 

just as the treasure-seekers now had no time to 
bother about him. 

Hull, after the first shout of discovery, had cast 
himself down on his stomach and, now laughing 
like a madman, was playing with the contents of 
the box, laving those tattooed hands of his in money. 
Tillman, absolutely crazed, was dancing like a mon- 
key in the sunlight before Hull. Houghton alone 
held himself together. Chaya was there. As full 
of mad excitement and joy as his companions, the 
check of the woman, who was looking wonderingly 
on at the antics of the others, held him from any 
demonstration. He only laughed; then, turning to 
Chaya, who was laughing also, he seized her to 
him. She did not resist. They were as much alone 
as though the frantic Hull and Tillman were miles 
away. They were screened by the gold. 

Then Hull came to his senses and began to talk 
almost rationally, sitting up and punctuating his 
remarks with blows of his fist on the ground. 

“Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!” cried Hull. “To think 
of poor old Mac gone cracked and shovellin’ dirt 
and leavin’ the yellow boys !” 

It was indicative of the Captain’s mentality that 
all anger against Macquart had vanished to be re- 
placed by furious mirth at the tragedy that Fate 
had shown to them. 

“Man and boy, I’ve worked all me life for tup- 
pence and look at this. Look at me now, and Mac 
tried to fitcher me over the business and look at 
Mac! I tell you, it had to come. I felt them 
suverins drawing me all me life and there they are. 


294 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


I wasn’t born to die pore. I was not. And now 
I’ll sit in me kerridge and live as I ought. That’s 
me. Me sittin’ on the top of the keg and smokin’ 
me pipe, and Mac runnin’ mad in the woods chased 
by niggers.” 

Tillman, recovering, was also in a talkative mood. 

“We’ve struck it in the middle of the bull’s-eye,” 
said he, “and no mistake. That’s what pleases me. 
We aimed for it and hit it. If we’d tumbled on this 
thing by chance there wouldn’t have been anything 
to it, but we’ve got it by going for it. Well, it’s 
champagne for all of us forevermore. Amen!” 

“It’s big luck,” said Houghton, who was standing 
by Chaya. “But there’s one thing that bothers me. 
Where are Wiart and Jacky?” 

“That needn’t worry you,” grunted Hull, who 
was tossing coins on his thumb. “Mac’s done ’em 
in as sure as I haven’t. Went mad and done ’em in. 
Here we come and find him mad and them gone — 
done ’em in — that’s what he’s done. He’d ’a’ 
spiffiicated his own grandmother for half a ha’ 
penny, would Mac, and here he was, alone with the 
nigger and old whiskers and half a million pounds.” 

“It looks like it,” said Tillman. “Well, there’s 
no use in talking about it. I’m longing to get this 
stuff under cover. You see the way the ground has 
been picked up; that was when they were hunting 
to strike the cache. This is the only spot where 
real digging work was done and they didn’t do 
much of that. They hadn’t more than struck the 
colour when the quarrel took place or Mac killed 


NEMESIS 


295 

them. Come on, now, and collect the dibbs and let’s 
hunt for the rest.” 

Tillman had picked up the basket that Macquart 
dropped in his flight and they proceeded carefully 
to fill it with the gold in sight, a business that did 
not take three pairs of hands long in accomplishing, 
whilst Chaya held the basket open. Then they set 
to and in a moment located the next gold box. 

“They are set side by side,” said Houghton. “We 
won’t have a bit of trouble with them, only we will 
want baskets. I vote we get back to the Barracuda 
with this lot and then rig up something to carry 
the stuff in. A piece of sail-cloth will do at a 
pinch.” 

The others fell in with this idea. But just at the 
start Hull raised an objection. 

“I don’t like to leave this stuff alone with no one 
to look after it, and that’s the truth,” said he. “I 
ain’t a narvous man, but it gets me on the spine 
when I think of leavin’ this stuff to its lonesome.” 

“There’s no one to touch it,” said Tillman. 

“Maybe not,” replied the Captain, “but, all the 
same, I’m no happier to leave it.” 

“I’ll stay and look after it,” said Houghton. 
“Chaya and I will sit tight here while you two get 
aboard and bring back the canvas.” 

“I’ll be easier that way,” said the Captain. 

He started off with Tillman and they carried the 
basket alternately till they reached the deck of the 
yawl. 

“We’ll stow it in the saloon as far as there’s 
stowage room,” said Hull, “and the hold will take 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


296 

the rest. Dash me! if I like stowin’ it anywhere. 
I’d sooner keep it on deck under me eye, but that’s 
not to be done.” He lowered himself down the 
saloon hatch, and Tillman was preparing to follow 
with the load when a shout from Hull down below 
made him start. He put the basket down on deck 
and the next moment he was in the cabin. Hull 
was standing by the body of Jacky stretched on 
the floor. 

“Good God!” said Tillman. 

“Dead,” said Hull, lifting an arm of the corpse 
and letting it drop. “Neck broken to all appear- 
ances. Done in by Mac. What did I tell you?” 

Tillman was too shocked for a moment to speak. 

“How he did it, Lord only knows,” said Hull, 
who was now as cool as a professor of anatomy 
demonstrating on a “subject.” “There ain’t no 
scratch that I can see. There ain’t no blood, just 
the neck broke. He may have tumbled down the 
saloon hatch and killed hisself, but that ain’t prob- 
able with Mac about. Most like he was done in 
by Mac and the whisker man and then the whiskers 
got his gruel later on. No knowin’. But he’s got 
to get out of here, and we’ve got to shift him. 
We’ve got to rig a tackle to the main boom and 
histe him. Let’s get to work.” 

They rigged the tackle and ten minutes’ gruesome 
work got rid of the intruder. He went overboard 
with a pig of iron as a sinker and the Captain, quite 
unmoved, assisted in the removing of the tackle and 
the rousting out of some spare canvas to serve as 
a sack for the carrying of the gold. 


CHAPTER XXX 


THE GIFT OF GIFTS 


TT OUGHTON, left alone with Chaya, took his 
* seat by the cache whilst the girl sat beside 
him. If ever any man realised his ambitions in life, 
that man was surely Houghton. The one woman in 
the world that he wanted sat beside him, all the 
money he required lay before him. 

“Chaya,” said he, pointing to the cache, “that is 
what we came here for. We have got it and we 
must now go away. Will you come with me?” 

Chaya laughed softly to herself. The woman 
they called her mother had no more hold upon her 
affection than Macquart. She had absolutely never 
known the thing called love till Houghton came 
into her life. She opened out her hands as though 
running over in imagination the whole earth, turned 
to him, laughed into his eyes and held up her lips. 

“That is well,” said he. He held her hand and 
they sat shoulder touching shoulder, not troubling 
to speak. 

All at once Chaya started and turned her head, 
whilst Houghton rose to his feet. A voice from far 
away to the right came to them through the almost 
windless air. It seemed hailing them. 

“It is Saji,” said Chaya, who had often heard 
297 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


298 

that hail on their hunting expeditions. “He is call- 
ing to me.” She knew by the sound of the voice 
that Saji was either injured or in distress. She 
answered the call and the reply came as faithfully 
as an echo. 

“Now he will know,” said Chaya, “and he will 
come here as surely as the snake to its rock.” They 
listened, but no sound came from Saji. That wily 
hunter, having obtained their direction, was using 
his breath, no doubt, for a better purpose than 
shouting. 

Then they heard him moving among the leaves, 
and a moment later he appeared from among the 
trees. He was crawling on hands and knees. He 
held the parang between his teeth, for his girdle 
had been torn off in some violent struggle. He 
was mortally wounded and he was dragging along 
the head of Macquart by its hair. When he saw 
Chaya he cried out, and, supporting himself on his 
left hand as she approached, he held up the head 
with his right. 

It was the gift of gifts, the love-offering of the 
Dyak warrior. It was more than that. It was the 
head of the man who had murdered Chaya’s father. 

Chaya did not know this, nor did Houghton, nor 
did Saji. All these actors in the drama were per- 
fectly unconscious of the fact that here Justice was 
dealing retribution, that here, above the gold for 
which Macquart had murdered Lant, Macquart’s 
head was being offered as a gift to Lant’s daughter. 

Houghton cried out in horror, but Chaya, just as 
on the day when she stood watching the battle be- 


THE GIFT OF GIFTS 


299 


tween the scorpion and the centipede, stood looking 
at Saji and his terrible trophy unmoved. She knew 
that it was his offering to her, and her love for 
Houghton had told her in some mysterious way the 
secret of Saji’s passion for her. It was as though 
she were watching not only the savagery from which 
she was escaping, but the whole of that mysterious 
past which lay on her mother’s side, stretching 
through unknown ages during which men, to gain 
the love of women, had brought them as love gifts 
the heads of men. 

Saji, with one supreme effort, tried to rise to his 
feet; then he fell on his knees, on his hands, on his 
side, quivered as though a breeze were astir amidst 
his muscles and lay dead beside his trophy. As 
he turned on his side they saw the cause of his 
death. The shaft of his own spear, broken off, pro- 
truded from his side. Macquart, in his struggle 
for life, must have gained possession of the spear 
and used it with deadly effect, only to fall victim to 
the parang. 

Houghton was advancing towards the body of 
Saji when Hull and Tillman appeared from among 
the trees, carrying the canvas for the conveying of 
the gold. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


AT LAST 

I T was the morning of the fifth day after the 
death of Saji, and Hull and his companions 
were stretched on the deck of the Barracuda in the 
shade of the trees, smoking and talking. Seldom 
have men worked as those three during the last few 
days. Not only had they got the last of the coin 
on board, but they had proved to themselves the 
fact by digging up the last possible vestiges of the 
cache. They had got a good deal of the rubbish 
out of the fo’c’sle and flung it overboard after sift- 
ing it and now the boat was all trim and ready 
for sea. 

Pig-iron ballast had been jettisoned to be re- 
placed by gold. The gold was stored in the cabin, 
in the hold and in the fo’c’sle. They had worked 
surrounded by an aura. The thing was fabulous 
and the labour like the labour in a dream. Nearly 
under them lay the bones of the Terschelling, the 
ship that had been taking all this wealth to China 
ports more than fifteen years ago. Its non-arrival 
had, no doubt, affected underwriters, caused talk, 
caused loss to the insurers of it, and then had been 
absolutely forgotten. Here it had lain dead and 
buried to all seeming, but its soul had been actively 
300 n 


AT LAST 


301 


at work, weaving, weaving, weaving, drawing lives 
together like threads to make the texture of the 
pictures that form this story. 

It had drawn to itself Hull and Houghton and 
Tillman, Macquart and Jacky, Wiart, Chaya, 
Screed, and, strangest of all, it had brought up the 
past and dealt out retribution to the wicked. Who 
will say that gold is a lifeless thing or that it is 
not in its way a god? Now stored and prisoned, 
and about to be deported to a land where its activi- 
ties could begin anew, it shewed nothing of its pres- 
ence except in the weariness of its slaves who were 
lying about on deck. 

Chaya was down below in the cabin, arranging 
things. When Hull and Tillman got the truth of 
the matter, they had made no trouble at all about 
Chaya, though her joining them would make things 
a great deal more difficult on the return journey. 
It was arranged that she should have the cabin 
for herself to sleep in, and during the day, except 
at meal-times, the rest of the crew being condemned 
to the fo’c’sle. Not that this mattered much, as 
the crew, being so small, would be required most 
of the time on deck. 

The incident of Chaya scarcely gave Hull and 
Tillman a thought. Gold fever and heavy labour 
held their entire minds and beings, and it was per- 
haps the exhaustion produced by these two causes 
that moved Hull, as he lay on the deck now, smok- 
ing and stretching himself, to forecast the difficulties 
still before them. 

“There’s a good many miles of sea between here 


302 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


and there,” said he, “but I don’t mind nothin’ so 
long as we get clear of the coast. I wish we was 
out of this lagoon.” 

“What’s wrong with the lagoon?” said Tillman. 
“It’s been a pretty good friend to us, I think.” 

“I don’t know anythin’ that’s wrong with it,” 
replied Hull, “but I wish we was clear of it.” 

“Well, we’ll be out of it to-morrow,” said Hough- 
ton. “We have only to get the water on board and 
we can do that this evening. We couldn’t go sooner 
than to-morrow. Lord! every bone in my body is 
aching. I didn’t ever think I could have worked 
like that. Do you know, we have been at it for 
five days without a break scarcely?” 

“Seems more like five years,” said Tillman. He 
had risen up and was leaning on the rail tapping the 
ashes from his pipe into the lagoon. Whilst en- 
gaged in this his eye caught sight of something. It 
was the prow of a fishing prahu. At this moment 
Chaya came on deck and her quick eye caught sight 
of the prahu. She called out to Houghton, and he 
and Hull sprang to their feet. 

The prahu that had come up the lagoon at a 
rapid pace turned in a hairpin curve, with the foam 
pouring like cream round the blades of the star- 
board paddles, and vanished as it had come almost 
in an instant. 

“That was smartly done,” said Tillman. “Those 
chaps must have come to have a peep at us. I 
wonder how they knew we were here.” 

“I reckon they didn’t,” said Hull. “They just 
struck sight of us and got skeered.” But Hough- 


AT LAST 


303 

ton, who had been talking to Chaya, was not of 
this way of thinking. 

“I don’t like the look of those chaps,” said he; 
“neither does Chaya. She thinks they must have 
got wind of what we are after and they’ve seen her. 
That old woman who calls herself her mother is 
sure to have raised the tribe when Chaya did not 
go back. It’s nearly a week now since she joined 
us and she thinks that the fishermen of the tribe 
have come up from the sea to the village, got news 
of what has happened and started out after us.” 

“That’s cheerful,” said Tillman. 

“I said just now I wished we were out of this 
lagoon,” grumbled Hull. 

“Chaya thinks that the fact of her being with 
us may have caused the trouble,” went on Hough- 
ton, “and she says, rather than endanger you two 
and the gold, she is ready to go back. I would go 
with her.” 

“Now, we don’t want any of that sort of stuff,” 
said Hull. “We’ve contracted to lift the girl as well 
as the stuff and we’re not goin’ to be done over our 
contrack by those chaps.” 

“We’ve got our rifles,” said Tillman. 

“Blow rifles!” said the Captain. “Sticks is good 
enough to beat them off with.” He went down below 
and got an axe, then with the axe in his hand he 
lumbered over the side and disappeared into the. 
forest. 

In half an hour’s time he returned. He had cut 
down and cut up three small trees, and he carried 
the result of his labours under his arm in the form 


3°4 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


of three cudgels, each four feet long. Down he 
sat on the deck and, as he whittled at the weapons 
with his knife, he laid down the law of self-defence 
by means of sticks to the others. 

“I’ll lam you somethin’,” said the Captain. 
“Don’t you never try to belt a chap over the head 
with a stick till you have him on the ground. The 
p’int of the stick is the able end for fightin’. Use 
it like a bay’net. There’s not a man livin’ can stand 
up to the poke of a stick if the chap that’s usin’ 
the stick knows his bizness. Now these sticks is 
short enough to fend or break a spear with and 
long enough to dig a nigger in the stomach with. 
That’s the p’int to aim at.” 

He spent nearly half the day over these weapons, 
and at sundown they started to water the Barracuda, 
Houghton and Tillman taking the beakers to the 
well they had found just inside the forest, whilst 
Hull and Chaya kept guard. 

They slept that night on deck, keeping watch in 
turn. But not a sign came of any trouble from the 
river. 

Then just before dawn they unmoored, and the 
Captain with Tillman got out the boat and hauled 
the Barracuda out. They towed her to the mouth 
of the river where the wind, setting from the land 
fortunately for them, was ruffling up the lagoon wa- 
ter. Here they got the boat on board and hoisted 
the mainsail and jib, whilst the Barracuda, begin- 
ning to walk and talk, nosed her way into the river 
mists now breaking and making spirals to the 
wind. 


AT LAST 


305 

The tide was ebbing, and as they drew along past 
wooded capes and deep dense masses of mangrove 
growth, Hull, who was on the lookout, saw on the 
calm dawn-lit sea just at the river mouth vague forms 
like water flies come to rest on the ruffled water. 

“That’s them,” said he. “Look, they’re waitin’ 
for us. Now, you take my orders and take ’em 
sharp. We’re makin’ five knots, we must make 
nine; crack every stitch of canvas on her and give 
me the wheel.” 

He took the wheel whilst the others flew to obey 
his orders, and the Barracuda, with all sail set and 
the main boom swung out to starboard, came along 
at a spanking pace before the wind that was bend- 
ing the palm tops and spreading before them in 
cat’s-paws of vaguest silver. The rifles, loaded and 
ready, were lying on the deck to be used as a last 
resort. Chaya was kneeling by Houghton ready 
to hand him his weapon, and Tillman with his foot 
on his gun and his club in his fist was standing by 
Hull. Houghton could hear the sound of the sea 
coming against the wind. Never in his life had he 
gone through moments of such supreme tension as 
now, waiting for what might come in the vague light 
of morning and a silence unbroken but for the wash 
of the waves on the distant reefs and the wash of 
the water at the bow of the yawl. 

Then suddenly uprose a clamour like the crying 
of sea-fowl. The ten prahus that had been lying 
like logs on the heave of the sea swarmed into a 
dark line and the line rushed to meet them. Hough- 
ton saw Hull as calm as though he were on a pleas- 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


306 

ure sail, standing, quid bulging his cheek and great 
hands playing gently with the little wheel. Then 
suddenly the wheel went over to port and the Barri- 
cuda crashed into something that went grinding 
away under the keel. At the same moment some- 
thing struck the main sail. 

It was a light spear, venomous as the sting of a 
wasp, and it stuck there, slatting and held from 
falling back by its barb, whilst Hull put the wheel 
over again to starboard and twenty more spears 
fell “wop, wop” into the water astern of her. 

“Done ’em,” said the Captain. 

Houghton looked back. He could not believe 
that it was all over. Yet there were the prahus all 
in confusion in the wake of the Barracuda, the 
wrecked prahu like a broken umbrella on the wa- 
ter, and the heads of the swimmers who were being 
rescued by their friends. 

“They laid to get us one on each side,” said Hull, 
“and if I hadn’t shifted the helm and rammed that 
chap, they’d have got their holts — which they didn’t. 
Well, there’s no blood spilt and that’s all the better. 
Gad! boys, we’ve got the stuff away!” 

The sun answered him, breaking up over the sea, 
and all the great lonely coast they were leaving 
showed in its desolation across the water rippled 
with gold and strewn with the foam of the reefs. 

Houghton, holding Chaya’s hand, looked back. 
Then, still hand in hand, they went forward and 
stood looking far ahead to where the ruffled blue of 
the sea faded through the morning haze into a sky 
of azure, fair with the promise of the future. 


CHAPTER XXXII 
l’envoi 

/^\NE bright morning, two months later, the Bar- 
racuda , having hung off and on all night in 
view of Macquarie, entered Sydney Harbour. Stole 
in unnoticed, storm-beaten, and sun-blistered, and 
foul with tropic weeds, the strangest craft that had 
ever made that port of call. 

She and her crew, bronzed and tattered, and her 
cargo, invisible but there, might have sailed in from 
some distant Age when men made the world mar- 
vellous with their deeds and before machinery had 
made man commonplace as itself. 

Chaya alone, sunburnt and laughing and amazed 
at the wonders of this new place, was a whole ro- 
mance in herself. 

Yet no one noticed them — or only some early 
fishermen and a few longshoremen at the little bay 
near Farm Cove where they anchored, and one of 
whom was sent hot foot with a message to Screed 
— a pencilled message which ran: “Big luck. Come 
at once, and for God’s sake bring some provisions 
with you.” 

It would be impossible to describe that break- 
fast in the musty, fusty little cabin with the sun 
307 


THE GOLD TRAIL 


308 

blazing through the port-holes and the skjylight. 
Wealth sat beside each of them, and the prosaic 
Screed, as he listened to scraps of the marvellous 
voyage, forgot even the gold he was sitting on in 
contemplation of the greater gold that lay like a 
halo around the work of these wanderers. 

Chaya sat by Houghton — the only man among 
them doubly blessed by wealth. 


THE END 


BOOKS BY STEPHEN LEACOCK 


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AND OTHER CONTRIBUTIONS TO HUMAN KNOWLEDGE 

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